Bhí an ghaoth ag insint scéalta d'aois ó na haillte go Cillinan agus Aoife.

The wind was telling ancient stories from the cliffs to Cillian and Aoife.

Suíomh áille, an t-amhrán bheith ina chompánach ag teach na fuinneoga mór.

A beautiful location, the song being a companion at the big window house.

Sheas na deirfiúr agus a deartháir in aice láimhe le chéile, ag cuimhneamh ar a n-athair le grianghraf den chlann ina lámh.

The sister and brother stood side by side, remembering their father with a family photograph in hand.

“Tá sé ag Samhain anois,” a dúirt Aoife go ciúin, a súile ag méadú ar an spéir liath.

“It’s Samhain now,” said Aoife quietly, her eyes growing larger upon the gray sky.

Bhí Samhain lán de thraidisiúin, dírithe ar mhair deiridh na mbairr, agus an tús an geimhridh.

Samhain was full of traditions, focused on the last harvest and the beginning of winter.

“Tá, agus bhíodh sé ina dhiaidh an fhómhair freisin,” d’fhreagair Cillian, ag caitheamh súil eile ar an áilleacht timpeall orthu.

“Yes, and it used to be after autumn too,” Cillian replied, casting another look at the beauty around them.

“An Samhain, an carr ar ais go hoíche.”

“Samhain, the return to night.”

Thug Aoife cnag ar an gcoimeádán brónach ina robi.

Aoife gently tapped on the sad container in her robe.

Ar dtús, bhí drogall uirthi scoith an clú seo a dhéanamh.

At first, she was reluctant to carry out this solemn act.

Bhí grá a hathar láidir anseo, áit a bhain sé faoiseamh, agus suaimhneas é sin a thuig sí nach mbeadh sé in aon áit eile tar éis deireadh a shaoil.

Her father's love was strong here, a place where he found relief, and a peace she understood he would not have elsewhere after his life had ended.

“An bhfuil tú réidh, Cillian?” a d’fhiafraigh sí.

“Are you ready, Cillian?” she asked.

Bhí cuma braonach ar a súile.

There was a tearful look in her eyes.

Rinne Cillian iarracht a chuid mothúcháin féin a cheilt mar táidir le feiceáil go huile is go hiomlán géaránach.

Cillian tried to hide his own emotions as much as possible, appearing thoroughly somber.

D’fhéach sé ar shiúl, agus d’fhoghlaim sé gháirí a aintín ag bhain sé as na laethanta Ióim.

He looked away, and remembered their aunt's laughter from days of Lóim.

Ní raibh sé réidh ach bhí Aoife ag teastáil uaidh anseo.

He wasn't ready yet, but Aoife needed him here.

Rinne sí céim beagán amach, tháinig Aoife pé as scáth a chéile a chuir ár gclár i mbéal an bháis.

She took a small step forward, Aoife emerged from their shared shadow to present their ritual to the brink of death.

“In ainm ár n-athar, in ainm an tsaoil,” a dúirt sí, deora ag sciorradh síos a aghaidh.

“In the name of our father, in the name of life,” she said, tears cascading down her face.

Scaoil sí na luaithreach d’athair amach go caoch i gcoinne na haillte, b’fhada iad an tonntrachending ag bhualadh thíos béal coisclo.

She released her father's ashes into the void against the cliffs, the endless waves crashing below the shore.

Bhí an ealaín féin radha ar aoibhneas ann.

Even the art itself glowed with delight.

Lean Aoife an sruth go dtí gur bhuail sé leis an bhfarraige mhór, a chéimeanna saillte.

Aoife followed the stream until it met the vast sea, her steps stepped with salt.

Bhí sé ina shúile ansin, is Cillian in aghaidh lena lámh ag teástáil ar a oiread.

It was then in his eyes, and Cillian leaned forward with his hand seeking as much.

“Dhéanaim brón faoi sin, athair.”

“I’m sorry about this, father.”

Thug Aoife di féin fhios agus sroich sí lámh a deartháir ag ceann a mhothaigh sí éigin níos mó ná cumadóireacht.

Aoife reassured herself and reached for her brother's hand, feeling something greater than solace.

“Tá áthas orm go bhfuil tú anseo, Cillian. Tá áthas orm go bhfuil muid ag déanamh é seo le chéile.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Cillian. I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

D’fhéach Cillian suas ansin, níos gaire di i bhfad níos mó ná mar a shíl.

Cillian looked up then, much closer to her than he had thought.

“B’fhearr liomsa chomh maith go bhfuil tú anseo le mo thaobh a iolráin. Níor thuigeas cé chomh tábhachtach is ea é seo roimhe seo.”

“I’m also glad you’re here beside me. I didn’t understand how important this was before now.”

Chaith siad cnapán san aer an domhain agus na hallaí ansin ag maidir go gcré na huaige an Samhain.

They cast a piece into the air of the world, and the halls then referred to the earth of Samhain's grave.

Bhí an t-uisce ag rith arís féin ag diúltadh, a raibh inti ábalta soiscéil do chamhaois eile i m’aire.

The water ran again, refusing, as she was able to preach to another age in my mind.

Labhair a gcroí chóinníollach, ar feadh uaire gaol le chéile.

Their hearts spoke intimately, for hours together.

Bhí aighneacht Aoife faoi dheireadh ar son a hathair, a shíocháin sobre a saol.

Aoife's dedication was finally on behalf of her father, his peace sober across her life.

Agus ag an nóiméad sin, bhuail gaoth na n-amhrach agus d'aontaigh Aoife le Cillian, ní hamháin ar son tí tarraingthe, ach ar son a dtiomantaíochta féin.

And at that moment, the wind of memories struck and Aoife agreed with Cillian, not only for the sake of drawn residence but also for their own commitment.

Bhí an gnás déanta.

The ritual was done.

Agus leis éis, bhí Aoife agus Cillian fós in ann teacht ar shíocháin intinne idir an ghrian ag titim orthu.

And thereafter, Aoife and Cillian were still able to find peace of mind between the sun setting upon them.