The Kelpies by Kate Coutts

🌫️ Sgeulachd Each-uisge Orsay 🌫️
Mar a chaidh innse le Kate Coutts
Dìreach far a’ chosta bho Phort Wemyss agus Port na h-Abhainne tha Eilean Orsay, eilean beag, gaothach far a bheil an taigh-solais a’ seasamh dìon thairis air a’ mhuir shàmhach. Fada mus do gheàrr a ghathan tron ​​cheò, b’ e tearmann uaine lusach a bh’ anns an eilean, air a chleachdadh as t-samhradh airson crodh a ionaltradh.
Thathar ag ràdh gur e seo a’ chiad àite a chuir Naomh Calum Cille cas às deidh dha Èirinn fhàgail ach nuair a thionndaidh e air ais agus a chunnaic e cnuic Dhùn na nGall fhathast ri fhaicinn, bha fios aige nach robh e air siubhal fada gu leòr, agus mar sin ghluais e air adhart gu Eilean Ì.
Ach chan eil an sgeulachd seo mu naoimh. Tha i mu rudeigin tòrr nas sine, nas dorcha, agus nas mì-shuaimhneile.
Mòran bhliadhnaichean air ais, chaidh Mòrag, nighean croiteir à Ìle, a chur gu Orsay gus aire a thoirt don chrodh airson mìosan an t-samhraidh. Bha i a’ fuireach gu sìmplidh a làithean làn de ghearan crodh, fuaim eun-mara, agus roiligeadh a’ Chuain Siar air na creagan. Ach mar a thàinig an fhoghar faisg agus an t-àm ann airson an sprèidh a shnàmh air ais gu Ìle, thòisich an aimsir ag atharrachadh.
Dh’fhàs an speur trom. Dhorchaich a’ mhuir gu liath iarainn fuar. Bhris tonnan nas cruaidhe air a’ chladach.
Aon fheasgar, mar a thòisich a’ ghaoth a’ caoineadh, chuala Mòrag fuaim a chuir fuar air a fuil.
B’ e seo Each-uisge, aon de na Ceilpichean mara a bhios a’ tàladh nan neo-chùramach gu an sgrios.

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🌫️ The Tale of the Waterhorse of Orsay 🌫️
As told by Kate Coutts

Just off the coast from Port Wemyss and Portnahaven lies the Isle of Orsay — a small, windswept isle where the lighthouse stands guard over the restless sea. Long before its beam ever cut through the mist, the island was a lush green haven, used in summer for grazing cattle.

It’s said this was the very first place Saint Columba set foot after leaving Ireland — but when he turned back and saw the hills of Donegal still in sight, he knew he had not journeyed far enough, and so he moved on to Iona.

But this tale isn’t about saints. It’s about something far older, darker, and more restless.

Many years ago, Morag, a crofter’s daughter from Islay, was sent to Orsay to tend the cattle for the summer months. She lived simply — her days filled with the lowing of cows, the sound of seabirds, and the roll of the Atlantic on the rocks. But as autumn neared and it came time to swim the cattle back to Islay, the weather began to change.

The sky grew heavy. The sea darkened to a cold iron grey. Waves broke harder on the shore.

One evening, as the wind began to wail, Morag heard a sound that chilled her blood

But Morag, remembering the old tales, knew better. This was no earthly horse — this was a Each-uisge, a Waterhorse, one of the Kelpies of the sea that lure the unwary to their doom.