On The Waves

This... was not what Blythe was expecting when they decided to go island hopping. They expected that they would spend the day looking at different natural features and maybe take some pictures of a lighthouse or two. Never in a million years did they expect to be standing on a rocky shore, having a staring contest with a young boy who had just appeared. Out of nowhere.

The boy, despite his random appearance, seemed rather normal. His big brown eyes that were reminiscent of a doe, and shaggy hair covered much of his face. There was a leather loin cloth around his waist, and pudgy legs splayed out across the rocks. Rather normal, if you could ignore the giant bull horns sticking out of his head.

Blythe was eventually the one to break the staring contest, pinching the bridge of their nose. Ireland was the home of the fae, of sea monsters and fiery goddesses. Of course on their day off, they would run into a fairy child.

"I hate being Irish."

The boy perked up at that, a smile against soft cheeks. "I get that a lot."

"Do you need help or something, boy?"

"My name is Cooley."

"Good for you. I ain't giving you mine."

"I'm trying to find my sire, please. There was a fight happening, and I got lost. Please help me." Cooley pouted, slouching further down. Blythe had a soft spot for kids. Always did. So much so that they had wanted to be a school teacher right up until a school teacher hit their knuckles so hard they bled. Then they decided that school teachers were mean people. Not great logic, but it was the logic of a young hurt child. Anyways, Blythe had a soft spot for children, and with a child, even a fairy child looking at them like that, they didn't stand a chance.

"Tell me what I'm looking for." They sighed, and the boy brightened. Immediately withered, thinking.

"I don't know."

"Great. Just Great. You can go island hopping with me if you want?"

"Island hopping?"

"I just take my boat to the different little coastal islands for the day. Not the most productive use of time, but I'm wore down. It's relaxing, for me. Might find your sire that way?"

They hoped he would say no. They hoped desperately for the refusal of a shy child who found it safer to stay put. But the kid's eager nod meant an annoying day for Blythe, and they mourned the lost day off. "Fae, ruining my day off. This is ridiculous." Cooley entered the boat and Blythe started the motor and from there, the two were off. It was silent at first, Cooley searching the islands for the fairyland, and Blythe too bitter to speak. But children grow bored and annoyance can only held for so long before it either festers or goes away.

"What's the motor for?"

"I don't want to row this whole way."

"Why not?"

"You ever row a boat?"

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"So, you sell fish?"

"Not much of a market for me, but I try. Tourists find it quaint. Bit demeaning, but that's life."

"What does demeaning mean?"

"It's how you would feel if I called you a cow."

"I'm not a cow!"

"Exactly."

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"You need a hat to go into town."

"No I don't."

"I don't want anyone asking me questions about your horns."

"Most people can't see them."

”Better safe than sorry.”

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They were giving up for the night- fairyland would have to wait for another day. But then the boy saw something on the sunset. He alerted Blythe with a point and a shout, which in all honesty, since the shout was "Look, the sunset!" was a rather repetative of a gesture. But Blythe looked anyways.

It was beautiful, the way red sunsets were. It was vicious as a battleground. Perhaps it was, the way the clouds seemed to sweep at them, reaching.

"Sire!" Cooley shouted, jumping to the shore as Blythe finished tying it up. The weather seemed to change, to reach for the boy, his oversized smile reaching back. As he was wrapped up, he yelled "Bye Blythe! Thank you!"

The wind seemed to echo the thanks, but Blythe was caught on the fact that the boy seemed to know their name.

The next day, a heavy piece of parchment was at the bottom of the boat.

"Thanks for returning my bull. If you need a favor from me, go to Bull Rock and I will find you"

The signed name was one that Blythe had read in their bedtime stories. A name they had never seen signed quite so prettily. They groaned and turned to the sky.

"I hate being Irish."