The elves of the woods around Galway often whispered of Áine’s free spirit, something that confounded most of them.

“Look how she's off on the town,” remarks one washerwoman to another as they carry their baskets back home from the river.

“Off on a search for sailors, I reckon.”

“There's plenty of fine fellas here to be found.” Her companion scoffs as she shifts the basket higher on her hip.

“She’s never been one to stay at home, though, and I’m starting to wonder if she’ll ever forget her dreams of going away and forget her sailors in Galway.”

It is not certain if Áine heard the mutterings of the older folk, but it would not have changed anything even if she had—it would not have stopped her going off with a spring in her step to find one particular sailor she’s hoping is waiting in Galway for a young lady such as herself for reels and jigs, and maybe more.

The lights of the town are shining bright as ever tonight, and tonight she'll be dancing around once she finds you, her favorite sailor.

She hadn’t paid you much mind at first with how infrequently you were on shore leave, but the times you were left a deep impression on the elf—here was a human that could keep up with her, a man who could nearly out-dance her and recount stories of her adventures with the flourish of a poet.

Her falling in love with you was inevitable, as she soon realized.

The moment she spotted you seated at your usual table, her heart nearly exploded from her chest, and her lips spread into a bright smile as she plops herself into your lap with her arms around your shoulders.

“My love!” She squeals with excitement as she peppers your face with kisses, holding onto you tightly as if you would disappear right out from under her.

“How’s my love? Did anything exciting happen while you were out at sea?”