nightsinger (currently updating)

02 - uncharted

"Some of us don't bleed the same color."

"I saw them driving away in a car, but they were hurt." She hiccups. "Is that why those men hurt you, then? Because they were afraid?"

"And are you not?" Jameson bared his teeth, sharp as a blade. "I have a tail and you walk on legs. My teeth can bite cleanly through your neck," he gritted out.

"My blood is red, and yours is blue," she said, picking up a seashell by her shoes and dusting it off before balancing it on the top of his hand. Jameson glared at her. "My hair is dark, and yours darkest. Should I hate you?"

"Maybe so," Jameson told her, interest dampening the pain. "Hate is an easy emotion to feel."

"It doesn't seem right." The little girl smiled, and Jameson's head fell still. "Just because you appear differently from me does not make you any less valuable."

He remained quiet as she reached over and pulled a piece of dry seaweed from his hair, the powdery scent of youth almost calming as Jameson hunched over with blood loss. It was either trust this human or die—there were no better alternatives. Whether she delivered him into another set of brutal hands or left him to dry out in the night, Jameson was dead both ways. He had nothing and everything to lose.

"How do I save you?" the girl asked, kneeling next to his head. "If you were human, you would probably be dead by now."

He let out a choked laugh, all humor dissolved. "Why should you try?"

She looked away, inky hair shining with youth as the girl looked at his wounds and winced once more. "My mother told me that the sea delivered me back to her when I was a babe. She also told me to return the favor if I had the chance."

"Humans and their superstitions," he said, closing his eyes as the pain took over. "The sea is kinder than you think. She does not hold debts over acts of mercy."."

Jameson growled when the girl took his hands and started pulling him forwards almost desperately, features scrunched in concentration as her heels dug into the sand. The wooden spear was lodged at the back of his tail. It hadn't pierced through the entire muscle yet, but Jameson still felt his flesh tearing, his vision flashing white as his nerves screamed. He screamed, too.

"They're coming," she whispered, eyes so wide that he stiffened. "I hear them from above the cliff. Can you make it to the water? Will it heal you?"

He hissed. When the girl flinched, he almost felt something like regret in his chest. "It is too late. They have lodged their weapon in my body, and it's only inevitable that they retrieve it."

She kept dragging him, sweat breaking out along her hairline. Jameson felt conflicted, unnerved: he'd never had a human care about him in decades, especially someone so young who appeared unaffected by his existence.

"You are," Jameson said slowly, putting his efforts into dragging his body across the sand while she held his hands, "surprisingly strong for your age, human girl."

"My name is Mara." The feeling of her skin on his completed something he wasn't searching for, the paleness of his hands striking compared to the softness of her own.

Jameson frowned as he felt another trickle of blood run down his tail from the movement. "You name is sacred," he told her. "Do not give it out freely."

She nodded, but he knew she knew not what he meant. They were almost to the shore now—around five meters. Jameson could almost taste the salt on his tongue, the shock of coldness that winter brought to the currents. "Where are your parents, child?"

Her hands wrapped around his wrist and tugged harshly, completely ignoring his yell of pain. Determination set into her expression like a promise. Her eyes glistened with ambition as she tugged and tugged and tugged until Jameson was breathless and his fingertips could nearly touch the water if he stretched long enough.