Naming the Pony
After supper as we gathered around the hearth I continued me story about Beannaithe and her pony...
'Beannaithe had made a friend of the steed of great worth, but now she had to learn whether the beast would allow her to mount and ride it. Before she attempted that, however, Beannaithe thought she ought to name the pony first. Beannaithe thought about the tales she'd heard her grandfather the farmer tell about the heroes of old and their horses.
One great hero that came to mind was Nuada Airgetlám of the Tuatha Dé Danann whose sword, if Bean an Tí na Locha spoke truly, Beannaithe now possessed. "What was his horse called?" Beanaithe thought to herself. "It had something to do with hair." She thought and thought but the name did not come to her recollection.
"Hmm," she thought, "perhaps it would be better to ride the pony first after all." Then suddenly the name of Nuada's horse came to her: "Énbarr of the Flowing Mane!"
She looked at the pony and thought, "I do not know whether you are able to pass over both land and sea as Énbarr could, hopefully we shall not have to put that to the test, but I shall call you Mac Énbarr for you, like his foal, are a smaller version of him."
Beannaithe took a deep breath then slowly blew out the air. Feelin' a wee bit calmer now, the lass grasped the pony's mane in her left hand and laid her right hand on its back. With a hop she mounted the pony. It did not bolt.
"This is good," she thought, "but will the pony allow me ride?"
Beannaithe nudged the pony's flanks with the heels of both her feet. The beast loosed a great neigh then reared up on its back legs. Beannaithe held on tightly to avoid slipping off.
Coming back down onto all four hooves, the pony then raced down the slope of the hill in the direction of An Abhainn Mhór ("The Great River").
"Wee!" Beannaithe cried. She did not know that it was possible to travel so quickly, nor to feel such exhilaration.'
'Exhili-what?' asked Diolun.
'Sorry, lad, it means a thrill of great joy and excitement,' I explained.
'Oh, that's a grand word!' he marvelled.
'So it is,' I said, 'and so is the feelin',' I said with a smile.
Me grandkids giggled.
'That's a grand story,' me daughter Ériu interjected, 'but the hour is late.'
'Aye, daughter, it is,' I agreed. 'Tis time for bed, me wee darlin's'
'Aww!' they moaned before dutifully followin' their mothers to their sleepin' chambers.
'Oíche mhaith!' I said after them.
'Oíche mhaith, Granda!' they said in reply.
