Aodhán
little fire
All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
The water is warm here, much like he remembers from what feels like ages ago when he’d heeded a fairy’s call to the Island Resort. The blue shells that he brought to them, still mark his sides today, and unbeknownst to him, also cling to the woman’s mane nearby. He remembers seeing some faces that could have been familiar, but no-one seemed to mind him back then. Instead, he remembers how he’d thought he must have been attacked by a sand monster in the very waters where he swims now, and is grateful for his new ability to shift and change into whatever his heart desires. If only for the fact that he won’t have to rest on those mudflats and possibly sink away, right now.
Lingering near the shore of a larger island, he contemplates if this might be the Resort or the other large island, Ischia. The only way to find out from his position is to swim entirely around it, which doesn’t honestly appeal to Aodhán. He is, after all, more akin to fire than water, or even to the immovable ice than this fluid, wavy, current-rich state of the liquid.
His mind occupied and on top of that, relatively slow, he doesn’t notice the nereid’s legs in the water; and though his subconscious has long since led him towards the source of a lovely female voice, he gets hit by a wave full in the sides, and tumbles over beneath the surface.
That is when he finally decides to change, and as such, it is a metallic golden carp, only slightly larger than a horse’s head, making his way over the sand ridges and into the oddly directed new current.
When he decides to peek out of the waves, the sight of the insanely beautiful mare leaves him rather speechless, and the only movements he still makes is absentmindedly made with his fins, to ensure he stays in the same spot. Perhaps somewhere in the back of his mind he acknowledges that she might be searching for something, or that he is clearly visible now, being a metallic gleam between the waves that roll to shore. But the green emeralds on his shimmering golden fish-head never fail to keep her in his line of sight, and not a single word seems good enough to describe her beauty and no greeting could ever match the luring sound of her voice.
Lingering near the shore of a larger island, he contemplates if this might be the Resort or the other large island, Ischia. The only way to find out from his position is to swim entirely around it, which doesn’t honestly appeal to Aodhán. He is, after all, more akin to fire than water, or even to the immovable ice than this fluid, wavy, current-rich state of the liquid.
His mind occupied and on top of that, relatively slow, he doesn’t notice the nereid’s legs in the water; and though his subconscious has long since led him towards the source of a lovely female voice, he gets hit by a wave full in the sides, and tumbles over beneath the surface.
That is when he finally decides to change, and as such, it is a metallic golden carp, only slightly larger than a horse’s head, making his way over the sand ridges and into the oddly directed new current.
When he decides to peek out of the waves, the sight of the insanely beautiful mare leaves him rather speechless, and the only movements he still makes is absentmindedly made with his fins, to ensure he stays in the same spot. Perhaps somewhere in the back of his mind he acknowledges that she might be searching for something, or that he is clearly visible now, being a metallic gleam between the waves that roll to shore. But the green emeralds on his shimmering golden fish-head never fail to keep her in his line of sight, and not a single word seems good enough to describe her beauty and no greeting could ever match the luring sound of her voice.