The valley of the Boyne was flooding.
The Rainmaker Snake, a massive, iridescent python from the Dreamtime, coiled in the thunderheads above. Rainbow Coil. It was singing the Song of Waterholes, bringing a monsoon to a land that was already quite wet enough, thank you very much.
The Dagda stood on the hill. He was the All-Father, clad in a tunic too short for him, dragging his massive club, the Lorg Mór.
He looked at the rising water. "My porridge will get soggy," he grumbled.
The Deluge
The Snake hissed, and the rain redoubled. Mudcarve Passage. The river burst its banks.
The Dagda sighed. "I didn't want to do any heavy lifting today."
He lifted the Lorg Mór. It was a weapon of life and death. The rough end killed nine men with one blow; the handle brought them back to life. But it also controlled the weather.
He swung the club at the sky.
Lorg Mór Strike.
WHUMPF.
The shockwave hit the clouds. It didn't just disperse them; it deleted them. The moisture was instantly vaporized. The sky turned a brilliant, bewildered blue. The rain stopped as if a tap had been turned off.
The Snack
The Rainmaker Snake, suddenly deprived of its cloud cover, fell. It tumbled out of the sky—a long, shimmering noodle of magic.
It landed with a wet SLAP right at the Dagda’s feet.
The Dagda looked at the snake. He poked it with his club. It was dazed.
"Looks like an eel," the Dagda mused. "A rainbow eel."
He picked up the Rainbow Serpent by the tail and dropped it into his Cauldron of Plenty. The cauldron, which was never empty and always satisfied, bubbled happily.
"Good soup weather," the Dagda decided, stirring the pot.