Bhí lá fuar gheimhridh ann, an ghrian ag éirí go mall os cionn na bhflaitheas.

It was a cold winter’s day, the sun rising slowly above the sky.

Bhí Sorcha, Cillian, agus Niamh ag siúl suas cnoc Tíre an Teamhra.

Sorcha, Cillian, and Niamh were walking up the hill of Tíre an Teamhra.

Ba í an lá seo Lá Naomh Nioclás, agus bhí solas ar leith ag dul i gcoinne na gcarraigeacha ársa.

This day was Lá Naomh Nioclás, and there was a special light reflecting against the ancient rocks.

Bhí an-chuid súil ag Sorcha le bheith níos gaire dá fréamhacha Éireannacha.

Sorcha was very eager to get closer to her Irish roots.

Bhí an seans uathúil ag teacht chuici ag searmanas an gheimhridh.

A unique opportunity was coming her way at the winter ceremony.

Níor mhothaigh sí ceangailte ar an mbealach seo riamh cheana.

She had never felt this connected in this way before.

Leaba báite bhí sí leis an scéal féin, ag iarraidh an stair a mhothú faoinár gcosa.

She was immersed in the story itself, trying to feel the history beneath their feet.

"Déan deifir, a Chillian," arsa Sorcha, láidreacht ina guth cé go raibh oighear ar an talamh faoi bhun a cosa.

"Hurry up, Cillian," said Sorcha, strength in her voice despite the ice beneath her feet.

"Níl muid ach cúpla nóiméad as an suaimhneas seo.

"We’re only a few minutes away from this tranquility."

"Gáireog shocair imeartha ar ghnúis Chillain.

A calm smile played on Cillian's face.

"Tá go maith, a chara," ar sé go réchúiseach.

"All right, my friend," he said calmly.

Bhí clóscríobh go maith aige go deo le Sorcha, b'fhéidir gurb é sin an fáth nach mbeadh sí ag cailleadh muiníne as a gcairdeas láidir.

He had always got along well with Sorcha, maybe that was why she never lost faith in their strong friendship.

Ach go tobann, tháinig faí Áine ar a scéin.

But suddenly, Áine appeared in their midst.

Bhí cloch ina bolg agus ag fáisceadh a guaillí.

She had a stone in her stomach and was clutching her shoulders.

"A dhaoine," ar sí le fonn imní, "Caithimid stopadh.

"Everyone," she said anxiously, "We need to stop."

"Bhí súil chrua ar aoibh gháire Chillain.

A hard look was on Cillian's smiling face.

"Cad é atá cearr?

"What’s wrong?

Tá gach rud in ord sa bhád, nach bhfuil?

Everything is in order, isn’t it?"

"Bhí Niamh faoi scáth go gasta.

Niamh quickly stepped into the shadow.

"Drochimfhollasóid.

"A bad omen.

Is dócha gur planda nó rud éigin é," a mhínigh sí, ag taispeáint an bhéal a bhí ag teacht ar a aghaidh dearg.

Maybe it's a plant or something," she explained, showing the grimace coming over her red face.

Tháinig imní ar chroí Sorcha.

Concern grew in Sorcha’'s heart.

Bhí sí ag iarraidh an turas a chur i gcrích, ach ní bheadh sé ceart Niamh a fhágáil mar sin.

She wanted to complete the journey, but it wouldn't be right to leave Niamh like that.

Cinematán ina croí, rinne sí cinneadh corraitheach.

With resolve in her heart, she made a decisive decision.

"Fanann muid anseo le Niamh.

"We’ll stay here with Niamh.

Caithfidh sí cúram ceart a fháil.

She needs proper care."

"Bhí díomá beag ar Chillain, ach thuig sé an rud ceart le déanamh.

Cillian felt a bit disappointed, but he understood what was right.

Thug Sorcha barróg bheag do Niamh, agus iarr sí ar Chillain glaoch a chur ar an dochtúir.

Sorcha gave Niamh a small hug and asked Cillian to call the doctor.

Le chéile, chuaigh siad ar ais síos an cnoc go dtí go bhfuair siad cabhair dó Niamh.

Together, they went back down the hill until they found help for Niamh.

Ameasg an fhuachta, bhí gach nóiméad tábhachtach, ach bhí Sorcha buioch as a bheith faoina lucht tacaíochta doscartha.

Amongst the cold, every moment was important, but Sorcha was grateful to be under the care of her inseparable support group.

Bhí an chúirtéine síscéal sin a tharlaíonn, agus cúpla uair an chloig níos moille, bhí an triúr acu ar an bhealach arís.

There was the fairy-tale curtain happening, and a few hours later, the three of them were back on the road.

D’fhan siad le feiceáil cad a bheadh i ndán dóibh.

They waited to see what destiny had in store for them.

Agus éadóchas á shárú acu, shroich siad ceann an Teamhra ar deireadh.

Overcoming despair, they finally reached the top of Teamhra.

Bhí sé ró-dhéanach don áit iomlán, ach níor chailleadh an t-am leisciúil.

It was too late for the full ceremony, but not a moment was wasted idly.

Chonacthas dóibh an solas a chur i dteagmháil le scuirm na gcarraigeacha, solas a bhí chomh cine daonna mar é féin.

They saw the light touch the edges of the rocks, light that was as human as it was.

Las solas ghrian an gheimhridh, frámachrainn mar an suíomh féin, an cruth i bhfás soilse.

The winter sun shone brightly, framing the site itself, a shape growing in lights.

Bhain Sorcha casadh as a mála, ag coimeád chuimhne chun go mbeadh ar ais i gcónaí ar an nóiméad seo.

Sorcha took a twist from her bag, keeping a memory so she could always return to this moment.

"Is rud claoineach é oidhreacht," arsa Sorcha go bog.

"Heritage is a precious thing," said Sorcha softly.

"Ní láithreacha ná traidisiúin amháin atá ann, ach daoine agus scéalta.

"It's not just sites or traditions; it’s people and stories."

"Bhí tuiscint á nochtadh ina coirnéal anois.

There was understanding revealing itself now.

Bhí oidhreacht go deo ann ina cairdeas, sa sólás a chuir siad ar a chéile.

There was heritage forever in their friendship, in the comfort they provided each other.

Agus mar sin, i solas tanaithe, d’fhill siad abhaile, oidhreacht i gceann acu mar dhraíocht chríochnaithe.

And so, in the softened light, they returned home, heritage in their hands like a completed spell.