Bhí an gaoth ag séideadh go láidir ar maidin, agus bhí brat mór de cheo ag síneadh trasna Clochán an Aifir.

The wind was blowing strongly in the morning, and a large blanket of fog stretched across Clochán an Aifir.

Bhí gach rud gléasta i ngealóig an gheimhridh, mar a bheadh sé ag iarraidh cuirfeast ar na deirfiúracha agus deartháir a tháinig ann go luath ar an lá úd.

Everything was dressed in the brightness of winter, as if it were trying to challenge the sisters and brother who arrived early that day.

Bhí Rory i gceannas, a srón daingean isteach sa ghaoth.

Rory was leading, his nose steadfast into the wind.

Bhí a fholt dubh cosúil le scáth sellphéist ag aitinn ón ghaoth.

His black hair was like a shadowy silhouette waving in the wind.

Bhí sé ag baint amach gnó croí seang a athar – an traidisiún a thosnaigh sé sa chlann nuair a bhí siad níos óige.

He was carrying on with his father's old business – a tradition he had started in the family when they were younger.

Bhí Siobhán, le hintinn caol, ag suirí ar Rory agus Eamon, an duine is óige, ag déanamh iarracht coimeád suas leis na céimeanna móra roimpi.

Siobhán, with a sharp mind, was teasing Rory, and Eamon, the youngest, was trying hard to keep up with the larger steps ahead.

Ach mhothaigh Eamon, mar is minic, go raibh sé taobh amuigh ar fad.

But Eamon often felt completely left out.

"Rory," a d'éiligh Siobhán, "cad é an fáth go bhfuil muid anseo i lár an gheimhridh?

"Rory," Siobhán demanded, "why are we here in the middle of winter?

Ní bhímid anseo ar lá gréine fiú.

We’re not even here on a sunny day."

""D'fhág ár n-athair traidisiún dúinn," d'fhreagair Rory, croí na foighne aige.

"Our father left us a tradition," Rory responded, patience at the heart of his words.

"Tá sé níos mó ná turas.

"It's more than a trip.

Is cuimhne é, nasc.

It's a memory, a connection.

Is é sin an fáth a choinneoimid an traidisiún beo.

That's why we keep the tradition alive."

"Chroith Eamon a cheann, brón ina ghuth óg.

Eamon shook his head, sadness in his young voice.

"Ach cad mura dtuigim é?

"But what if I don't understand it?

Táimid anseo, fuar, agus níl an t-athair anseo le muid a threorú.

We're here, cold, and our father isn't here to guide us."

"Lean siad ar aghaidh, gach céim ag dul níos géire, ach níor fhéach Rory siar.

They continued on, each step growing sharper, but Rory never looked back.

Nuair a shroich siad barr na clocha, d'éirigh an ceo rud beag níos taine agus chonaic siad spás os a gcomhair.

When they reached the top of the rocks, the fog thinned a bit, revealing a space before them.

Bhí na tonnta ag bualadh na gcolún le deabhóid ghoirt, agus cheol an mhara cosúil le molpag meascán de nótaí.

The waves crashed against the columns with a salty devotion, and the sea chanted like a hymn of mixed notes.

Thóg Rory bosca ar an talamh.

Rory took a box from the ground.

Dearbhán sean d'aois ina láimhe.

An old voucher in his hand.

"Níl sé faoi cathain nó cén áit," a dúirt sé go ciúin ach go soiléir.

"It's not about when or where," he said quietly yet clearly.

"Baineann sé leis an bhfuinneamh a roinnimid.

"It's about the energy we share.

Seo, ag an bpointe seo, bhí an chaoi a mhothaigh sé á choinneáil beo.

Here, at this point, was how he felt, keeping it alive."

"Bhí nóiméad tost ann agus ansin, gan choinne, thosaigh Siobhán ag gáire.

There was a moment of silence, and then, unexpectedly, Siobhán started laughing.

"Cuimhnigh an uair a chaith an t-athair naíonna isteach sa bholgán beag sin d'uisce?

"Remember the time father tossed us into that little bubble of water?

Cheap sé gur bia mara a bhí ann!

He thought it was seafood!"

"Gáire in ann gach duine a bhogadh.

Laughter capable of moving everyone present.

Rory, Siobhán agus Eamon, ag gáire in aon áit amháin faoi chuimhní a bhí, go dtí an t-am sin, folaithe ag an oighear.

Rory, Siobhán, and Eamon, laughing together at memories that had been hidden until then, hidden by the ice.

"Ceart go leor," a dúirt Eamon go séimh, mothú bráithreachais ag titim ar a ghualainn.

"Alright," Eamon said gently, a feeling of brotherhood settling on his shoulders.

"Déanaimis é seo a choinneáil beo, ach déanaimís é ar ár mbealach féin.

"Let's keep this alive, but let's do it our way.

Seo, agus ionas go mbeidh scéalta againn le hinsint faoi.

Here, so that we'll have stories to tell about it."

"D'fhéach Rory ar a dheartháir agus a dheirfiúr, tuiscint nua ag glinn in aigne.

Rory looked at his brother and sister, a new understanding glistening in his mind.

Ní raibh an traidisiún faoi bheith ina aithris dhílis den am atá caite.

The tradition wasn't about being an exact replica of the past.

Mar sin féin, bhí sé faoi lintí a tharraingt le chéile, fiú sa ghaoth fhionnuar seo ag Clochán an Aifir.

Still, it was about linking together, even in the cold wind at Clochán an Aifir.

Ag dul ar ais leis, léim a gcroíleabhar le meabhair nua, agus í briste óna chéile, ach le chéile thar aon rud eile.

As they went back, their heartbook leapt with new memories, broken apart but together above all else.

Rinne siad gealltanas, sea, coinníoll nua a chuirfeadh oidhreacht a n-athar agus a chéilearacht i ngníomh.

They made a promise, yes, a new condition that would carry on the legacy of their father and their unity.

Fiú ag dul abhaile, bhí na tonnta ag leanúint ar aghaidh, ag soláthar ceol murmúint droch-aimseartha mar mhná.

Even heading home, the waves continued, providing a murmuring tune of rough times like a woman's song.