Finn MacCool - Irish

My name is Finn MacCool, and long ago, when Ireland was a land of mist and magic, I led the finest warriors in the land, the Fianna. We lived with the rhythm of the seasons, our days filled with the thrill of the hunt and the warmth of the campfire, our nights with poetry and stories. From my home on the Antrim coast, I could see the shores of Scotland across the narrow sea, a purple smudge on the horizon. But it wasn't the view that bothered me; it was the sound. A great, booming voice would roll across the water, a voice belonging to a Scottish giant named Benandonner. He was a braggart, shouting insults about my strength and my courage, his words carried on the wind like a storm. Day after day, his taunts echoed in my ears, making the very stones of my fort tremble. My pride, as vast as the green hills of Ireland, began to ache. A challenge like that couldn't be ignored. I am Finn MacCool, after all, and no giant was going to mock me from across the sea without getting an answer. The fire in my belly grew hotter than any forge, and I knew I had to silence him. But how? The sea between us was too wild and wide to swim. I needed a way to walk over to Scotland and teach that loudmouth a lesson. And so, standing on the cliffs as the sea spray misted my face, an idea took shape in my mind, an idea as grand and as wild as the landscape itself. This is the story of how I built the Giant's Causeway.

My plan was simple, but the work was fit for a giant—which, luckily, I was. I would build a bridge of stone, a causeway that would stretch all the way to Scotland. With a roar that answered Benandonner’s, I set to work. I tore at the coastline, ripping massive columns of black basalt rock from the earth. Each one was a perfect hexagon, cool and heavy in my hands, as if the land itself had been waiting to be shaped for this very purpose. One by one, I hurled them into the churning sea, driving them deep into the seabed. The sound was like thunder, and the waves crashed and foamed around me in protest. For days and nights I worked, my muscles burning, my hands raw. I piled stone upon stone, creating a path of interlocking pillars that stepped out from the shore and into the deep water. The gulls wheeled and cried above me, and the salty wind was my only companion. Slowly, painstakingly, my bridge grew longer, a dark, jagged spine against the grey-green water. I didn't stop to rest; my anger and my pride were the fuel that kept me going. Finally, after what felt like an age, the causeway was complete. It snaked across the North Channel, a mighty testament to my will. I stood at the Irish end, breathing heavily, and let out a mighty bellow across the waves: 'Benandonner! Your road is ready! Come and face me if you dare!'.

I watched the Scottish coast, waiting. It wasn't long before I saw a figure, a colossal shape moving towards my causeway. It was Benandonner. But as he drew closer, my heart, which had never known fear, gave a mighty lurch. He was immense! His head seemed to scrape the clouds, and each step he took made my stone bridge shudder. He was twice my size, at least. A cold sweat broke out on my brow. My fury had blinded me to the truth of his size. This wasn't a fight I could win with strength alone. For the first time in my life, I turned and ran. I thundered back to my fort, crashing through the door and shouting for my wife, Oonagh. Oonagh was as wise as I was strong, her mind as sharp as any sword. While I was panicking, she was calm. 'Hush now, Finn,' she said, her voice soothing. 'Fighting isn't the only way to win a battle. I have a plan.' She worked quickly. She found the biggest nightgown and bonnet we owned and dressed me in them. Then, she led me to a huge cradle she had fashioned by the hearth. 'Get in,' she instructed, 'and no matter what happens, you pretend you're a baby.' At the same time, she was baking griddle-cakes, but into every second one, she slipped a flat piece of iron. Just as she finished, a shadow fell over the doorway, and the ground began to shake. Benandonner had arrived.

Benandonner had to stoop to get through our door. He filled the entire room. 'Where is that coward, Finn MacCool?' he boomed. Oonagh put a finger to her lips. 'He's out hunting,' she whispered sweetly. 'And please, try not to be so loud. You'll wake the baby.' The giant's eyes fell on the enormous cradle by the fire, where I lay trying to look small. He peered in, and his jaw dropped. If this was the baby, he thought, how gargantuan must the father be? Oonagh offered him a griddle-cake to welcome him. 'You must be hungry after your walk,' she said. Benandonner, suspecting nothing, took a huge bite and roared in pain as his teeth shattered against the hidden iron. 'My, what strong teeth our baby has,' Oonagh said, and she handed me a normal cake. I gummed it happily, making baby noises. That was the last straw for Benandonner. The sight of a baby eating a cake that had broken his teeth, combined with the terrifying thought of meeting the baby's father, sent him into a blind panic. He turned and fled, not even looking back. He scrambled back across the causeway, and in his terror, he kicked and smashed the stones behind him to make sure I could never follow. He didn't stop until he was safe in Scotland. The path I had built was destroyed, leaving only the beginning of it on our shore and the end of it on his. And that is how my clever wife outsmarted the biggest giant in Scotland, proving that a sharp mind is the most powerful weapon of all. The stones that remain are still there today, a reminder that cleverness can overcome any challenge, no matter how big. This story, carved into the very coast of Ireland, has been told for centuries, inspiring people to look for smart solutions instead of just relying on strength. It shows how our legends are part of the land itself, and how a good story, like the stones of the causeway, can last forever.