Salt water cures all things. This is a truth that selkies know.
Alecto is sitting in the sand, the water from the sea surging forward in even breaths, dampening his clothes. But he doesn’t mind. He is trying to help Avery don his sealskin - “Give me your hand, arm up…” - pulling the sleeves on for him as the boy impatiently wriggles. Alecto brushes his fingertips, roughened a little from years now of housework, of scrubbing linens and floors and cooking warm meals for his family, over the fur and his heart clenches in pain.
Avery says, “Momma, why don’t you ever swim with me? You’re a selkie too right?”
And Alecto’s breath catches in his throat, threatening to choke a sob out of him.
“Oh, Avery,” he says, shakily, patting back his son’s mess of dark hair. He tries to offer an reassuring smile and he’s not sure if it was meant for himself or for his son. Avery is looking at him with wide, bright eyes, and genuine, childish confusion. “I…I can’t.”
“Well,” Avery huffs, “why not.”
“My coat is gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“A man…before your father, took it from me. And now I’m never able to return to the sea. And it’s why I warn you all the time to keep this,” he pinches the fur between his fingers, “safe. To never give it up, even for someone who says they love you. You hear me?” It’s not worth it.
Avery thinks on this. He ignores the warning, apparently far more concerned about the current issue at hand, unable and unwilling to consider the fears of such a far future. “You belong in the sea, Momma, like the rest of us. That’s just not fair. Can’t you make a new coat?”
Alecto shakes his head, aching but amused by his son’s innocence, as he slowly pulls the hood of Avery’s sealskin over his head to finish the ritual of transformation. When next his son blinks up at him, it’s in his seal form, wordless and sweet, his big, damp eyes concerned. “No, but that’s not for you to worry about my little one. Go on. Go.” He pats his pup’s rump and urges him into the tides. Avery looks back now and again but ultimately swims off, soon having forgotten about the dry land and his mother’s sorrow.
Alecto waits until his son is far enough away to finally break down. The tears burst through him as he clutches his arms around himself, holding himself tight, feeling for the first time, in a long time, that initial loss so starkly. He wails, but tries to muffle it, a hand over his own mouth. His body curls in on itself. He’ll never be able to join his son, he thinks, never be able to swim with him the way he should. The ocean, from now on, will always be just an open wound for him.
no subject
Alecto is sitting in the sand, the water from the sea surging forward in even breaths, dampening his clothes. But he doesn’t mind. He is trying to help Avery don his sealskin - “Give me your hand, arm up…” - pulling the sleeves on for him as the boy impatiently wriggles. Alecto brushes his fingertips, roughened a little from years now of housework, of scrubbing linens and floors and cooking warm meals for his family, over the fur and his heart clenches in pain.
Avery says, “Momma, why don’t you ever swim with me? You’re a selkie too right?”
And Alecto’s breath catches in his throat, threatening to choke a sob out of him.
“Oh, Avery,” he says, shakily, patting back his son’s mess of dark hair. He tries to offer an reassuring smile and he’s not sure if it was meant for himself or for his son. Avery is looking at him with wide, bright eyes, and genuine, childish confusion. “I…I can’t.”
“Well,” Avery huffs, “why not.”
“My coat is gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“A man…before your father, took it from me. And now I’m never able to return to the sea. And it’s why I warn you all the time to keep this,” he pinches the fur between his fingers, “safe. To never give it up, even for someone who says they love you. You hear me?” It’s not worth it.
Avery thinks on this. He ignores the warning, apparently far more concerned about the current issue at hand, unable and unwilling to consider the fears of such a far future. “You belong in the sea, Momma, like the rest of us. That’s just not fair. Can’t you make a new coat?”
Alecto shakes his head, aching but amused by his son’s innocence, as he slowly pulls the hood of Avery’s sealskin over his head to finish the ritual of transformation. When next his son blinks up at him, it’s in his seal form, wordless and sweet, his big, damp eyes concerned. “No, but that’s not for you to worry about my little one. Go on. Go.” He pats his pup’s rump and urges him into the tides. Avery looks back now and again but ultimately swims off, soon having forgotten about the dry land and his mother’s sorrow.
Alecto waits until his son is far enough away to finally break down. The tears burst through him as he clutches his arms around himself, holding himself tight, feeling for the first time, in a long time, that initial loss so starkly. He wails, but tries to muffle it, a hand over his own mouth. His body curls in on itself. He’ll never be able to join his son, he thinks, never be able to swim with him the way he should. The ocean, from now on, will always be just an open wound for him.