Her former master, the fisherman, had rechristened his new vessel, which had previously been named after one of the legendary gods to have the name Bronntanas, and had even had a little ceremony where he’d unveiled the new name to Aodhán, his family, friends, and some curious onlookers.
From where he stood, Aodhán could see the Bronntanas out on the water, where the fisherman and his sons had been every day since Aodhán had given them the craft, bringing in good catches of fish to sell in the market, as well as preparing a larger crew to join them in sealing outside of the bay in a short time.
Aodhán carefully measured from the centre front of his vessel to the end of the name he’d painted with a string, then went to the other side of the bow and held the string, using the tip of a knife blade to make a small mark in the corner of the timber marking the length of the name.
He then prepared his brush and worked from the mark toward the centre, painting Athchóirigh on the other side of the bow. Aodhán surveyed the craft with pleasure. It still looked somewhat old and tired, but, at the same time, it looked sturdy and well-cared-for, which was his goal.
Covering the paint pot, he took the brush to where the saltwater lapped softly against the smooth sand at its low-tide zenith and washed the brush in the water until no more clouds of black pigment came from its bristles.
As he walked back to where the Athchóirigh was pulled up onto the sand, Aodhán shook the excess water from the brush and then dried it with a cloth he’d had in case of any paint dribbling, but even if he wasn’t artistically inclined, he had gotten good at not overloading a paintbrush with paint and causing drips, so there were no messy streaks or spatters dripping from the letters, or from anywhere else, for that matter.
Aodhán climbed onto the dock and stepped onto the Athchóirigh, where he put the paint and the brush in one of the compartments beneath the little deck. He surveyed the once-again-seaworthy boat with satisfaction before hopping from her little deck to the dock again.
Now that the Athchóirigh was officially finished and christened it was time to see about borrowing Uncle Séaghdha’s sea charts to take her out on a voyage to test her seaworthiness, and to hopefully get a bit of exploring in before the weather would undoubtedly turn against him, even though probably not so badly as on a place like Oíche, where the Guardians meeting with the North Winds could make winter a very stormy time of year.
In just a couple weeks’ time it would be the end of autumn and the beginning of winter, a change that was celebrated raucously by the traditional believers and Universalists. Aodhán hadn’t actually seen one of their celebrations of the seasonal change for himself, but based on what he’d heard, he didn’t want to see it.
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