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09-25-2014, 03:09 PM
Down along the beach alongside the softly swooning blue water, a figure rests her head against the sand.
A seal, you may think at first, perhaps dead. It is still and almost lifeless, but there is breath in her lungs, slowly pushing the velvet coated ribs of the animal in and out, in and out. Whatever she is, she is sleeping on the shore, gathering her strength for the transformation that takes her from time to time when the waves usher her inland, trap her on the sands and beneath the Sun that glimmers so high above.
Pale, pale green eyes flicker open, pudgy nose crinkling as it wiggles loose the particles of grit that have sealed to it as she dried from her expulsion from the sea; the mouth stretches wide in a yawn, the red flesh gleaming with wetness, and a hand slips forth from the throat of the beast and reaches out to grab one side of the seal’s face, and then another to clutch the other.
The hands pull inward, and the mouth of the seal broadens and stretches until a silvery haired head appears, the face round and marked with two forward facing eyes, an angular nose with two slits for breath and a pair of lips succulent and pink on the pale, white flesh of the being that emerges from her sea form.
Before long, a nude figure sits alongside the empty pelt of a seal, her white skin dimpling in the cool breeze that ushers down the shoreline and her chrome scaled legs shining and glorious as she stretches them to dig ten toes into the sand. A delicate hand reaches to tuck her hair behind pointed ears, the sides of her face lined in the same pale blue toned and shining scales as her legs, eyes broad and innocent as a young fawn caught in its first summer.
But it is not summer, she thinks, turning herself where she sits to look at the autumn tinged grasses that line the sea, the red boughs beyond, and as she tilts herself to look more fully down the length of the beach, she notes that she has washed up somewhere entirely without use to her.
It is not an elf that stands waiting for her, but two unicorns. A damp brow rises on her face as the ample figured selkie rises to her feet, awkwardly at first – it has been nearly fifteen years since she has used them – the wind catching her wet hair and drawing it streaming behind her, a long banner of silver hair that, when still, rests below her hips. Her pale, pale green eyes hold the two in her sight as she makes her way towards them, the sand clinging to the lower part of her legs and pleasantly warm compared to the water she had been tossed out of.
A wonder filters through her mind if the beasts can speak, as they did in other lands she had come ashore in throughout her many years of life; there were just as many places where the beasts were mute and stupid, and she has not arrived in enough time to hear or catch the words that are passing between the unicorns now.
She only knows that it is a wasted transformation if there are no elvenfolk here to bestow her with their seed.
”You there,” she calls from several yards distance, her voice so soft and gritty from years of disuse, flowing and full of wisdom as the sea which has raised her, ”what land is this?”
A five fingered hand rests upon her wide hips, a demanding posture for one facing two creatures so much larger than she and adorned with horns - but she has tricks of her own, as do all of her kind.
A seal, you may think at first, perhaps dead. It is still and almost lifeless, but there is breath in her lungs, slowly pushing the velvet coated ribs of the animal in and out, in and out. Whatever she is, she is sleeping on the shore, gathering her strength for the transformation that takes her from time to time when the waves usher her inland, trap her on the sands and beneath the Sun that glimmers so high above.
Pale, pale green eyes flicker open, pudgy nose crinkling as it wiggles loose the particles of grit that have sealed to it as she dried from her expulsion from the sea; the mouth stretches wide in a yawn, the red flesh gleaming with wetness, and a hand slips forth from the throat of the beast and reaches out to grab one side of the seal’s face, and then another to clutch the other.
The hands pull inward, and the mouth of the seal broadens and stretches until a silvery haired head appears, the face round and marked with two forward facing eyes, an angular nose with two slits for breath and a pair of lips succulent and pink on the pale, white flesh of the being that emerges from her sea form.
Before long, a nude figure sits alongside the empty pelt of a seal, her white skin dimpling in the cool breeze that ushers down the shoreline and her chrome scaled legs shining and glorious as she stretches them to dig ten toes into the sand. A delicate hand reaches to tuck her hair behind pointed ears, the sides of her face lined in the same pale blue toned and shining scales as her legs, eyes broad and innocent as a young fawn caught in its first summer.
But it is not summer, she thinks, turning herself where she sits to look at the autumn tinged grasses that line the sea, the red boughs beyond, and as she tilts herself to look more fully down the length of the beach, she notes that she has washed up somewhere entirely without use to her.
It is not an elf that stands waiting for her, but two unicorns. A damp brow rises on her face as the ample figured selkie rises to her feet, awkwardly at first – it has been nearly fifteen years since she has used them – the wind catching her wet hair and drawing it streaming behind her, a long banner of silver hair that, when still, rests below her hips. Her pale, pale green eyes hold the two in her sight as she makes her way towards them, the sand clinging to the lower part of her legs and pleasantly warm compared to the water she had been tossed out of.
A wonder filters through her mind if the beasts can speak, as they did in other lands she had come ashore in throughout her many years of life; there were just as many places where the beasts were mute and stupid, and she has not arrived in enough time to hear or catch the words that are passing between the unicorns now.
She only knows that it is a wasted transformation if there are no elvenfolk here to bestow her with their seed.
”You there,” she calls from several yards distance, her voice so soft and gritty from years of disuse, flowing and full of wisdom as the sea which has raised her, ”what land is this?”
A five fingered hand rests upon her wide hips, a demanding posture for one facing two creatures so much larger than she and adorned with horns - but she has tricks of her own, as do all of her kind.
