depth dweller.

Loch had not intended to drift so close to dry land. Yet here he was, less than a few yards from the shore. Beyond it, dull green and brown fields stretched on and on, for as far as his eyes could see, and if he really strained his long, frilled ears, he almost thought that he could hear voices—faint, but unmistakably human.

It sent a small shiver of excitement down his spine. He hadn’t seen a human in a good while, save for the few he’d spotted on fishing boats and the like. With how unpleasant his last real encounter with them had been, he was more than a little bit wary of them now—especially the ones that bore weapons—but they were still terribly interesting creatures, and he so loved to watch them from afar as they went about their little lives.

Not for the first time, Loch found himself feeling wistful as he gazed at the shore, his figure still mostly submerged. He had been borne of the sea, and so he loved the sea—it was his home, where he felt he well and truly belonged. But the realm of mortal man—that which had once seemed inaccessible, if not outright forbidden, to the likes of him—now beckoned to him, promising him new and exciting things. A chance, perhaps, to start over, and live a life where he didn’t have to hide himself away for fear of rousing others’ ire. And perhaps the people here were different—perhaps his kind were better treated, and he could walk among them, if not as their own then as an equal. He had done it before, so it couldn’t be that hard, could it?

Having never been one for patience, he was quick to make up his mind, ducking beneath the still waters to swim to his new destination. Upon reaching land, he dug his claws into the soil and tried to drag himself ashore. It was a bit more difficult than he’d anticipated, and after sending a cursory glance around, he was glad that no one else was around to witness his rather embarrassing struggle. He wiggled his lower half, trying to inch himself along like a snake; when that didn’t quite work he let out a huff and went slack against the soil, content to lie flat on his stomach, his face hidden in a pale, messy halo of hair.

At this rate, he was just going to exhaust himself. If he changed forms, he could move about freely, but he grimaced at the thought, not wanting to risk terrifying any humans he ran into; terror tended to spread, like a sickness, and if he wasn’t careful he could have hordes of humans after him, wanting to drive him from their land before he’d even truly set foot in it.

No, he would have to be smart about this and do his best to blend in. That meant mimicking them—tricking them into thinking that he was one of their own. He’d just need two legs instead of, well, none. That should be enough, right?

Propping himself up onto his elbows, then rolling to lie on his back, Loch focused all his magic on his lower half, willing it to change shape. It glowed, but faintly, and then the frilled tail split, the two halves parting and warping to form perfectly serviceable legs. He gave himself a moment to admire his work, grinning as he wiggled his new toes. When he tried to stand, however, he fell back down almost immediately, letting out a little “oof!” as he did.

Well, then. That didn’t seem right. Weren’t these things supposed to work?

Loch tried again. And again. And again. But each attempt ended with him back on the ground, and no closer to being able to walk.

He sighed. Maybe it was time for a new plan.