spinning seaweed to selkie skin

Hayden often chased Henrietta towards the strange chicken stature near Sweetwater Farms, wondering why she often found interest in the ancient architecture.

Such was this particularly recent venture that led him towards the cliff side where the statue stayed, surrounded by foliage and other decorative forgeable waiting to be plucked and used.

Henrietta clucked up to the statue as if ready to offer up something to it, with a bundle of hay in her beak, before Hayden came rushing up behind her. With a scoop of his arms, she was back in the safety of his embrace, though she clucked with vexation and a flap of her wings, dropping the hay from her mouth.

It was then that he noticed something keeping its head out from the waters near the cliffside. Curiosity getting the better of him, he came closer to see a seal swimming about.

A fine creature, indeed! It was rare to find seals lurking along the shores of Mistria. Even more so, ones who were courageous enough to come up to the cliffs

❝ Well now, looks like I'm not crazy, after all! ❞ He grinned. He could have sworn he'd seen one before, but had thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when it ducked beneath the water's surface as quickly as he'd seen it. Even Terithia hadn't believed him when he told her what he saw.

❝ Now that's a fine looking seal, if I'd ever seen one! ❞ He grinned, a hand resting over his brow to shield the sun and get a better look.

Henrietta rolled her eyes, being less than interested in something like seals and the ocean, itself.

Hayden looked around, finding some local herb bush closest to him. He walked over, picked a bundle of rosemary, and tossed it in the water to see if the seal would come closer or find interest in the plant. Seals were herbivores, right?

She watched curiously as he tossed something onto the frothy water's surface and she swam to it, snuffling her nose against it. Rosemary! She'd recognize that smell anywhere. There were bundles of it hanging in the windowsill of her kitchen, drying out to be stored.

The cliff meant she couldn't climb up to get closer. At least, not with flippers. Perhaps if she shifted, she could manage it, but she was still wary of revealing her selkie nature to anyone in town. He seemed friendly, though...maybe talking to him would be a good start.

Niamh could talk to him, introduce herself, and then maybe going into town wouldn't be so frightening. Maybe it wouldn't be so different from her home village. Maybe, for the most part, people would be kind...

Some people are afraid to say no or are afraid that you will get mad at them! This is to say that you would prefer people politely tell you NO if they don't want to do something!

Don't know how to say no? Here are some ways that shouldn't hurt anyone's feelings:

I'm not really feeling that idea, but maybe we could do (blank) instead

Maybe another time / not right now / I don't have the bandwidth for that kind of plot right now / that's not the type of thing I was really looking for but I'd love to do something else / I'm not currently looking for more threads / It's better for me if we just focus on what we have for now / hmmm what if we did (blank) instead / maybe another time!

- Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not see you. - Your aim would suggest otherwise.

His knot throbbed, aching for friction, but he didn't move.

Roak wanted to give her time to explore him, to see if she really liked what she was seeing.

Before they went any further, though, she figured they should probably move to the bed. It'd be a bit more comfortable than the bathroom. Not to mention, considering that he was taller than her...sex standing up might pose a bit of a challenge.

The sticky fingers weren't exactly deft, nor were they particularly sticky, either, as the pouch plummets in a windchime clatter on boot-beat floorboards. He manages to snatch the hand, turning his head idly, chin to shoulder, with a lift of his revolver's nose sliding free from the holster and sitting itself atop it directed at the woman. It's subtle, its eye glinting only just beneath the drape of a serape. Folks don't notice, more eye-balling the click and clatter and gleam of coin scattered on the floor.

Her face is familiar. Some print of it, he recalls, inked on paper on some board a few towns back.

The gun pointed at her makes Niamh rethink the whole stealing to survive thing. She's terrified, but even more than that, she's embarrassed. Everyone's looking at them. So much for laying low.

Unsure of what else to do, she tugs her hand free from his and crouches down to pick up the mess. Her fingers tremble but she manages to tuck the coins securely back into their home. She stands back up and hands him the pouch.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. With brightly flushed cheeks and a sheepish expression, she looks more like a clumsy woman than a pickpocket. She doesn't flee, not yet, still a bit worried about possibly getting a bullet put in her back.

The urge to explain is on the tip of her tongue. She fidgets with the hem of her shawl, shifting from foot to foot. And then her stomach growls, comically loud, and even more heat rises to her freckled cheeks.