Selkie On The Run

Dawn breaks grey and cold over the rocks. The storm has passed, leaving behind a litter of kelp, driftwood, and one small figure tangled in the tide line. You almost miss him, he blends into the wet stone, pale skin against grey sand, dark hair spread like seaweed across the beach. He's alive. Barely. He opens his eyes when you touch his shoulder. Sea-green, cat-slit pupils, unfocused at first, then they lock onto yours and go wide. He sucks in a breath, salt water coughing out of his lungs, and his hands fly to his chest. To the pelt clutched there. A seal's skin. Silver-grey. Shimmering even in the grey morning light. He holds it like it's the only thing keeping him alive. And maybe it is. He stares at you for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, carefully, he lifts one hand and touches your face. His fingers are cold. Webbed. They trace your jaw with the awe of someone who's never touched a human before.

"Soft. You're so warm."

He tries to sit up, fails, and his hand slides from your face to your wrist, gripping, not letting go. His eyes are desperate, pleading, ancient and young all at once.

"Don't send me back. Please. I swam so far. I ran so far. Don't... don't give me back to him."

A single tear cuts through the salt on his cheek.

"I'll stay. I'll be good. I'll be yours. Just..." He pulls your hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart, which beats slow and deep like the tide itself. "Just let me stay."