Ar maidin shéimh samhraidh, d'fhág Cian, Saoirse agus Niamh an carrchlós ag bun na nAillte.

On a calm summer morning, Cian, Saoirse, and Niamh left the parking lot at the foot of the cliffs.

Bhí an ghrian ag éirí go breá, ag caitheamh scáthanna fada ar an bhféarach.

The sun was rising beautifully, casting long shadows on the grassland.

Bhí bláthanna fiáine ag soilsiú i ngach cúinne, dathanna geala a shamhlaítear le ceol agus scéalta béaloidis.

Wildflowers were illuminating every corner, bright colors that are associated with music and folklore tales.

“Cá mbeadh an Tír na nÓg gan an dúlra seo?” a d'fhiafraigh Saoirse, ag craiceáil leis an radharc áille.

“Where would the Tír na nÓg be without this nature?” Saoirse asked, delighted by the beautiful view.

Bhí Cian ciúin.

Cian was quiet.

Bhí rud éigin ag iarraidh teacht chun cinn istigh ann, meascán ór idir eagla agus fonn.

Something was trying to emerge within him, a golden mix between fear and desire.

Bhí sé i gcónaí ag iarraidh dul suas i ndorchacht an scamaill, a théacht go bioránach isteach ina uacht.

He always wanted to ascend into the darkness of the clouds, to pierce sharply into its core.

Ní fada gur chas na bealaí chuig cosán cam agus clochach.

It wasn’t long before the paths turned into a winding, stony trail.

Bhí an fharraige gorma ag bualadh thíos.

The blue sea was crashing below.

“Tá airde i mbéal an phobail,” a dúirt Cian le meangadh gáire, ag iarraidh bronnadh beagán greann air féin.

“The height is on everyone’s mind,” Cian said with a wry smile, trying to bestow a bit of humor upon himself.

“Rachaidh muid chomh fada agus is féidir linn,” a mhol Saoirse go teannach, “Ach coinnigh súil ar an aimsir sin.”

“We’ll go as far as we can,” suggested Saoirse firmly, “But keep an eye on that weather.”

Bhí scamaill dhorcha ag gobadh isteach ó thiar na spéire.

Dark clouds were protruding from the western sky.

Bhí gaoth á thógáil, ag cur fuála brúcha ar an gcosán.

The wind was picking up, stitching gusts along the path.

Is beag a bhí imní ar Niamh.

Niamh was not very worried.

“Feiceann tú go dtiocfaidh an ghrian amach,” ar sí, ag canadh lena céadfaí.

“You’ll see, the sun will come out,” she said, singing with her senses.

Bhí a croí lán díograise agus teaspaigh, cosúil le tine athnuaite.

Her heart was full of enthusiasm and energy, like a rekindled fire.

Tháinig an chonspóid nuair a shleamhnaigh Saoirse ar chloch fhuaraithe ag an mbáisteach thitim.

The dispute arose when Saoirse slipped on a stone cooled by the falling rain.

D'iostaigh Niamh a lámh, ag cabhrú léi athsheasamh.

Niamh extended her hand, helping her regain her balance.

Ach bhí an cosán sleamhain agus contúirteach anois.

But the path was now slippery and dangerous.

Bhí rogha ag Cian.

Cian had a choice.

Bheadh sé ina dhán a fhéadfadh dóchas a chur suas, nó róghlactha.

It could be a verse that could instill hope, or be overwhelming.

Smaoinigh sé ar feadh nóiméad.

He thought for a moment.

Bhí an radharc ina chuimhne mar bhronntanas neamhchosúil.

The view in his memory was like an unparalleled gift.

“Fanfaimid leis an aimsir seo b'fhéidir, ach fanfaimid gar dá chéile,” mhol Saoirse.

“We’ll maybe wait for this weather, but let’s stay close to each other,” Saoirse suggested.

Le nóiméad spreagtha ó Niamh agus Saoirse, chinn Cian fanacht dílis dá aidhm féin.

With a moment of inspiration from Niamh and Saoirse, Cian decided to stay true to his own goal.

Leis an ghaoth ag cíor mearaí, shiúil siad ater an cosán, suas na heagla agus trasna na seirge.

With the wind playing havoc, they walked after the path, up the cliff and across the ridge.

Faoi dheireadh, shroich Cian an pointe féachana.

Finally, Cian reached the viewing point.

Tríd an scamaill, thosaigh an ghrian ag sciorradh, á lasadh an Spéir ar dhathanna oráiste agus bándearg.

Through the clouds, the sun began to slip, lighting the sky with orange and pink colors.

Ghlac sé an ghrásphictiúr díreach mar scread an fharraige ag bualadh faoi bhun.

He captured the graceful picture just as the sea roared against the base.

“Bhí fiáin—ach is fiú,” a dúirt Cian, ag breathnú ar a chairde le buíochas.

“It was wild— but worth it,” Cian said, looking at his friends with gratitude.

Bhí sé níos cróga, níos muiníní anois.

He was braver, more confident now.

Thuig sé é a bhaint amach.

He realized what they had achieved.

Thuig sé an dul-chun-chinn a bhí acu mar chairde.

He understood the progress they had made as friends.

Bhí an turas sách maith leis féin.

The journey was good in itself.

Agus tháinig eolas nua air: nach raibh deireadh níos fearr na tús i gcomhluadar maith.

And he discovered a new understanding: that there’s no better end than a beginning in good company.