Bhí an fómhar gléasta ina brat óir ar an sráidbhaile cois cósta.

Autumn was dressed in a golden cloak over the coastal village.

Bhí an ghaoth ag sú na duilleoga agus éirí sí sráid na clocha go bog.

The wind was drawing up the leaves and gently lifting them up the cobblestone street.

Bhí an t-aer lán le boladh an mhuir, agus fuaim na mbád áimheala fá lár an chuan ag síleadh scéala thaibhsí.

The air was filled with the smell of an mhuir, and the sound of the fishing boats in the middle of the harbor whispering tales of ghosts.

Bhí Ciarán agus Aoife amuigh faoin aer gaoitheach, agus scéalta na seanbháid acu ar a n-intinn.

Ciarán and Aoife were out in the breezy air, with the stories of the old boats on their minds.

Bhí an chathair lán le ráflaí faoin mbád a bheadh spiorad caillte iontu, agus Ciarán, fear a bhí fiosrach, bhí sé tinn tuirseach den suaimhneas laethúil ag lorg eachtraíochta.

The city was full of rumors about the boat that would have a lost spirit within it, and Ciarán, a man who was curious, was tired of the daily calm and looking for adventure.

Bhí Aoife áfach, i gcónaí amhrasach.

However, Aoife was always skeptical.

Ní raibh fonn uirthi ar scéalta taibhsiúla, áfach, bhí rud éigin iontach fann ann gur mealladh thar an doras í.

She wasn't inclined towards ghostly tales, but there was something faintly alluring that drew her beyond the door.

"Mhothaíonn tú rud éigin, nach ea, Aoife?

"You feel something, don't you, Aoife?"

" a d'fhiafraigh Ciarán, a shúile ag glioscarnach le sceitimíní agus dúil.

asked Ciarán, his eyes sparkling with excitement and interest.

"Is scéalta iad seo, Ciarán," a d'fhreagair sí, ag déanamh iarracht a bheith dian cé go raibh fonn áirithe uirthi dul i mbun gnothaíochta na nithe mistéireach seo.

"These are just stories, Ciarán," she replied, trying to be stern even though she had a certain desire to engage in the mystery of these things.

Ar an oíche roimh Oíche Shamhna, chinn Ciarán an bád a fhiosrú, agus shealbh an dá sinneach trí bhóithre conairí an chuain i dtreo an bháid thiar.

On the night before Oíche Shamhna, Ciarán decided to investigate the boat, and the two of them took the paths along the harbor towards the boat at the west end.

Bhí an spéir dubh, le réaltaí sin a chuir le marsantas draíochta na hoíche.

The sky was black, with stars that added to the magical shipping of the night.

Nuair a shroich siad an bád, fuair siad seaicéad uafásach fuaimneach an adhmaid.

When they reached the boat, they found the eerie creaking of the wood.

Chuaigh siad isteach, le coinnle i lámha, agus bhí Aoife ag iarraidh neamhaird a thabhairt dá croí ag preabadh.

They went inside, candles in hand, with Aoife trying to ignore her heart pounding.

Láithreach aimsigh Ciarán litir ársa faoi bhord.

Immediately, Ciarán found an ancient letter under a table.

Bhí an pháipéar buí, agus an scríobh i ndonás.

The paper was yellow, and the writing was tattered.

Bhí Aoife ag croitheadh a ceann, ach bhí rud éigin i bhfianaise na litreach a tharraing a súile chuici.

Aoife was shaking her head, but there was something in the light of the letter that drew her eyes to it.

Bhí an litir ag treorú scéalta coinsimh mhóra teaghlaigh agus robálacha na mbatá soithí ó na blianta fada.

The letter directed tales of great family conflicts and ship robbery from many years past.

Ar nós draíochta, chomh luath agus a léigh siad an teachtaireacht, tchíodar go raibh an bád ag beochan le fuinneamh ciúin agus mistéireach.

Like magic, as soon as they read the message, they saw that the boat was enlivened with a quiet and mysterious energy.

Ghlac Aoife lámh Ciarán láithreach.

Aoife took Ciarán's hand immediately.

“Seo é," arsa Aoife go ciúin, agus foighneacht i guth.

"This is it," said Aoife quietly, with patience in her voice.

Bhí an dhá chara ag féachaint ar a chéile, ag ligean focal gann ach ní raibh gá leo.

The two friends looked at each other, uttering few words, but there was no need for them.

Tháinig socracht orthu, bhí sé soiléir gurbh through seo níor cheart neamchaoin a dhéanamh ar an dúchas nó ar an fíorghníomh.

A calm came over them; it was clear that perhaps it was not right to disturb the heritage or the genuine deed.

"B'fhéidir," a dúirt Ciarán go mall, "is é an rud is fearr ná ligean don rúndiamhair fanacht ina síochán.

"Maybe," said Ciarán slowly, "the best thing is to let the mystery remain in peace."

"Thug Aoife nod grinn leis an gcéad eile.

Aoife gave a slight nod in agreement.

Bhí ceacht foghlamtha acu.

They had learned a lesson.

Uaireanta, bíonn an draíocht sa tuiscint, gan éalú ar lucht na gcladaigh ag lorg reaches nó Laochas.

Sometimes, the magic is in the understanding, without venturing to the shores in search of riches or heroism.

Leis sin d'fhág siad an bád, ag tagairt an litir atá tú faoi bhrat na rúndiamhra faoin mbord.

With that, they left the boat, letting the letter remain under the cloak of mysteries below the table.

Ag imeacht leo, bhí an saol beagán beagán éagsúil, áit a raibh gach lá lán de stair shuaithinseach nua ag cur leis an saol tearmainní sa sráidbhaile cois cósta a raibh cónaí orthu.

As they departed, life was ever so slightly different, where each day was full of remarkable new stories adding to the tranquil life in the coastal village where they lived.