Congratulations to the winner of our July competition. Feeling inspired? Have a go at this month's prompt.
“My lord, the waves foretell grave danger.” The crab prophet folded its claws.
The king of the crabs scuttled to the tower’s edge. “I won’t surrender the palace.”
The rest was lost when a giant foot crushed the sandcastle.
“Do they even see us?” Dave asked his father.
Chris Mac a’ Ghobhainn
Aig an àm sin den oidhche, chan eil ach na caistealan-gainmhich leth-bhriste, bhàthte, thrèigte air an tràigh. Agus am boireannach, nuair a thig i a-mach às a’ mhuir airson aon chaisteal a chàradh. Sgeadachaidh i le sligean o ghrunnd na mara e, agus uaireannan, fàgaidh i rudeigin eile na bhroinn.
Translation by Gaelic Books Council
At that time of night, only the half-broken sandcastles are left on the beach, drowned and abandoned. And the woman, when she comes out of the sea to mend one castle. She decorates it with shells from the seabed and, sometimes, she leaves something else inside it.