Warm sunlight shone on his face. Cold air drifted across his naked back. Slow, Alistair regained his wits and looked around. He was inside his cottage and judging by the hight of the sun it ought to be around early midday. Confused, he sat up and found himself fully naked on his bed, with the sealskin draped over his lower body and legs.

  Shock was the first thing he felt. Then came the guilt. The skin alone made it impossible to chalk what happened last night up to a nightmare. He had broken his promise to Aila. He had betrayed her trust. He had ventured to the shrine. He had spoken to Sedna. And now, he had to do what she asked of him or lose everything.

  Suddenly, as if his body just now remembered to exist, he felt a burning sensation in his side. Instinctively, he pressed his hand against his ribs and stifled a hiss of pain. Moving his hand away, he saw fresh and old blood on his palm. Panicked, he jumped out of the bed and assessed his wounds. As he did so, a vague memory of being attacked by something akin to a whale or shark surfaced. Shocked, he remembered not to have felt any fear that time and how he had killed the animal without hesitation. At the same time, he realized he felt strangely well-fed.

  “I… I’ve hunted fish and other things like a seal…”, he murmured and looked again at the skin. “I… I’ve enjoyed it.”

  Somehow this way of killing, despite being natural, left a sour taste in his mouth. Remembering everything now, he felt disgust. He had become worse than an animal, for animals knew no better than to kill like this. He could still feel the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He could just hope that among the blur of creatures wasn’t another Selkie.

  Feeling nauseous, he forced himself to tend to his wound, which was thankfully not too deep. Once that was done, he hastily cleaned and dressed himself, and removed the bloody covers from his bed. Not knowing what to do with those, he warped them into the sealskin and hid everything at the bottom of the wooden chest he had inherited from his parents. He knew that he couldn’t keep either inside there long, but it had to do for the moment.

  He was done not a second to late as there was an insistent knock on his door. Still feeling sick, he went to the door and opened it. The moment it swung open enough, Aila jumped into his arms. He needed all of his will power to not just let out a pained yelp.

  “Thank goodness you’re alright!”, she said with great relief. “I was worried sick, you know?”

  “Worried?”, he asked hoarse.

  “Yes! We thought something happened to you because your clothes were found in the early morning at the shore”, she explained and looked at him inquisitively. “What happened?”

  “I… I did…”, he stammered, but couldn’t really force out the words.

  “Alistair…”, said Aila, her expression falling. “Has something bad happened to you?”

  “I…”

  “Go inside and sit down”, she said alarmed and ushered him back into his cottage.

  Once he sat, she kissed him on the forehead, for which he was more than grateful, since he suspected she could still taste the blood on his lips. She then examined him shortly and found his wounds.

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  “By the Lord! What happened to you?”, she asked, sick with worry.

  “I…”

  Again he couldn’t say it.

  “Wait here! I’ll go fetch Rosomil”, she said, and before he could protest she was already out.

  Naked fear gripped his heart. If Rosomil found the skin when he told him that he didn’t have one, he would be in trouble. No matter the good will Rosomil had shown him, the knight wouldn’t stay this amicable once he inquired about last night. And Alistair had no doubts to be unable to keep anything from him and, per proxy, from Aila in this case.

  As the realization set in, he couldn’t help but tremble in pure animalistic fear.

  “Alistair!”

  Slow, he looked up and saw Aila nearly falling on top of him. Rosomil was with her and immediately made his way to them.

  “Step back”, he told her, and straightened Alistair back up the chair.

  Before he knew what was happening to him, he was pulled this way and that and found the knight uncomfortable close. His piercing blue eyes seemed to lay bare every of Alistair’s secrets and fears.

  “He must’ve been hit in the head”, the knight said after nearly an eternity of tense silence. “Although luckily, I see no wound and don’t feel any broken bones.”

  A moment later, he held a small dish underneath Alistair’s nose, which nearly made him gag. But whatever was in the dish, had somewhat cleared his mind. Confused, he looked at him, to Aila and back again.

  “Can you undress your upper body?”, asked Rosomil, concerned.

  “I… I can”, he replied, deeming it stupid to refuse.

  Once he had pulled the simple linen shirt up, Rosomil tenderly looked after his wounds without removing the bandages. For a moment, he looked questioning directly into Alistair’s eyes and then very subtle to Aila, who stood beside them pale as snow and chewing her fingernails.

  “He did a good enough job treating his wound, removing the bandages would cause more harm than good right now”, he explained and looked fully at her. “I want him to let me personally change the bandages around the evening in the inn while the sun’s still up.”

  “Is there anything I can do for him?”, she asked meek.

  “Just give him something to eat and drink. The most important thing he needs right now is rest. I shall question him in the evening while I check his wounds.”

  “I can manage on my own”, Alistair said and dressed himself again.

  “But you got nearly killed!”, Aila protested with tears in her eyes.

  “I’m… fine”, he insisted, which wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “I’ll leave you two alone for how”, Rosomil remarked, and packed his medical supplies away — Alistair hadn’t even noticed he had spread those in the first place. “Should his speech become incoherent or should he say odd things, stumble around, or throw up, you need to immediately call for me. Head injuries are fickle beasts.”

  Aila nodded and immediately started to rummage around the small cabinets beside his stove. Alistair watched Rosomil walk to the door with tense steps. At the door, the knight turned around and looked directly into his eyes. Somehow, his gaze felt worse than Aila’s worried scream. He was clearly aware of the truth, without Alistair needing to say a single word. A moment later, he was gone.

  The clinking of the few pots and pans he called his own returned his attention to Aila. She already placed a pan on the stove and looked for the firewood in the basket next to it. Slow, Alistair stood up and went to her. Before she could put a second piece of wood into the stove, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her gently up.

  “You don’t have to cook anything for me”, he told her, looking into her dark eyes.

  “But surely, you must be hungry”, she protested softly.

  “I’m not in the mood to eat.” — another half-truth.

  “Do you feel sick then?”

  “No.”

  He closed his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. Tentatively, she returned the hug and relaxed. They stood like this for some time until Aila took a deep breathed and sighed.

  “Something wrong?”, he asked, and pulled back a bit to look at her.

  “I’m just so happy to have you”, she replied with a board smile while blushing.

  “Then…”, he began just as the thought crossed his mind. “Let’s get married.”

  “Married?”, she repeated, pleasantly surprised.

  “Yes. I love you, so… what say you? Do you want to marry me?”

  “Yes!”, she shouted so loud, his ears started to ring.

  Immediately, she apologized profusely, but he silenced her with a kiss. This time the kiss felt different. There was something much more passionate in it, but also a subtle feeling of doom.