A Cold Winter
Me grandkids had wanted to know about Beannaithe's life on the farm, but also about her life as a blacksmith lass. They were, sadly, in store for a great disappointment...
'When Beannaithe first began to learn the art of the forge she enjoyed it very much. There were a pleasin' physical aspect to it: the weight of the hammer in her hand, the heat of the forge, and the sound of the poundin' of hammer upon metal.
There were a pleasin' social aspect, as well. She enjoyed makin' her beloved faðir ("father") happy with the beautiful things she made.
Fikta, Beannaithe's adoptive father, took great pride in the fact that his foundlin' child enjoyed doing somethin' that his people, the Dwarves, had mastered and perfected for many generations. Fikta took even greater pride in that Beannaithe performed the art so well. The praise they both received from the Dwarven smiths of the Lonely Mountainh made it all the better.
Things changed dramatically for Beannaithe, however, not long after her fifteenth birthday on the Winter Solstice: Fikta, her pabbi, died. The joy that Beannaithe once had when wieldin' hammer and tongs were gone.
The village blacksmith of Lyndelby were saddened by the loss of his Dwarf friend. He consoled himself knowin' that Fikta had lived to a very respectable age, and had accomplished much during his long lifetime.
The Hobad blacksmith, however, had not anticipated the loss of his apprentice. After Fikta's death, Beannaithe decided that she'd never again lift a blacksmith's hammer.'
Me grandkids wept durin' this part of the story, even Daibhidh and Diolun who only a few days before had been anxious to know whether Fikta had died yet. Me daughters led their weepin' children to their beds.
Me daughters did not know what were worse, their children fightin' or their children cryin'. It seemed to me that between the two, the cryin' were worse for me storytellin'.
Once their children were in their beds me daughters confronted me.
'Why did the Dwarf have to die?' asked Banba.
'It were important to Beannaithe's development,' I explained.
'Her "development" he says!' cried Ériu. 'Wee ones don't care about development. They only want happy stories--especially before bedtime!'
'I'm only glad wee Beacha were already sleepin' when ye told that part of the story,' said Fódla. 'Ye should be glad, too, or I'd be givin' ye an earful!'
'What're givin' me now?' I thought but did not say.
I did not agree with me daughters, but now were no time for arguin'.
