Just as I have come to expect in my handful of years, an offer of aid soon follows my admission of helplessness. My few encounters with those on land had all come about from my own foolishness and the subsequent need to beckon over a stranger to keep an eye out while I dozed or give me a push toward the sea.
The horned queen is not my usual target for such aid requests, and nor was the brawny black stallion. Nevertheless, permission to stay is accompanied by the promise that I will be safe, even from this trickster.
I smile with relief as the queen turns away from water, and only as she continues away do I realize that she means to leave me with the shifter. Her confidence in him reassures me, a sentiment that remains even as he calls the queen ‘rude’, at which I flick one pale ear to ensure she has not heard.
I forget my concern though, at the possibility that he might be able to help me. My blue eyes widen, but he does not immediately elaborate on how, exactly, he means to do that. The magic he wields is unseen, and without my mother’s ability to understand the chatter of aquatic life, I remain unaware of the changes he is already undertaking at the same channel I’d used to enter the Chamber’s lake.
“Only just to enjoy the sun.” I admit, “Which there was much more of along the coast. I grew up near the mouth of the River, in the kelp beds. I’ve lived in the Dale for a while; there’s a nice lake there and it doesn’t get nearly this cold in the winter.” I glance down in the water, where the pale length of my tail and the blue-violet and gold fins are just barely visible.
“I think I might have the ability to grow legs, but I’ve never learned.” There was nothing worth seeing on land, I had been told. There was no point in learning to walk. I do not think my mother had anticipated that I might become stranded like this, so as I have tried to shift these last months I have done it with no little frustration at her for never teaching me. She’d not anticipated me leaving her side either; we were nereids. I might have reached adulthood, with nearly a half-decade of lived experience, but we are social creatures that do not leave our kind.
“Were you born as an otter?” I ask, imagining an even smaller iteration of the darling little creature chittering beside me. It’s difficult to do, but I smile warmly at the image, grateful for the long-missed company and intrigued by the possibility that he might be able to help me.
@
Set
The horned queen is not my usual target for such aid requests, and nor was the brawny black stallion. Nevertheless, permission to stay is accompanied by the promise that I will be safe, even from this trickster.
I smile with relief as the queen turns away from water, and only as she continues away do I realize that she means to leave me with the shifter. Her confidence in him reassures me, a sentiment that remains even as he calls the queen ‘rude’, at which I flick one pale ear to ensure she has not heard.
I forget my concern though, at the possibility that he might be able to help me. My blue eyes widen, but he does not immediately elaborate on how, exactly, he means to do that. The magic he wields is unseen, and without my mother’s ability to understand the chatter of aquatic life, I remain unaware of the changes he is already undertaking at the same channel I’d used to enter the Chamber’s lake.
“Only just to enjoy the sun.” I admit, “Which there was much more of along the coast. I grew up near the mouth of the River, in the kelp beds. I’ve lived in the Dale for a while; there’s a nice lake there and it doesn’t get nearly this cold in the winter.” I glance down in the water, where the pale length of my tail and the blue-violet and gold fins are just barely visible.
“I think I might have the ability to grow legs, but I’ve never learned.” There was nothing worth seeing on land, I had been told. There was no point in learning to walk. I do not think my mother had anticipated that I might become stranded like this, so as I have tried to shift these last months I have done it with no little frustration at her for never teaching me. She’d not anticipated me leaving her side either; we were nereids. I might have reached adulthood, with nearly a half-decade of lived experience, but we are social creatures that do not leave our kind.
“Were you born as an otter?” I ask, imagining an even smaller iteration of the darling little creature chittering beside me. It’s difficult to do, but I smile warmly at the image, grateful for the long-missed company and intrigued by the possibility that he might be able to help me.
@
Set