Submerging (Swans Landing) Read Free

inch by inch, until finally my back pressed against the wood of the ship and the net around me slackened, releasing the fish in a slithering wave.
    I laid for a minute on the deck, my body still and my eyes facing up toward the sky. The rope still lay twisted around my feet.
    “Is she dead?” someone asked.
    I could feel the men all around me, peering down at my limp form, half-covered in fish that gasped for breath outside of the water. I felt a pitying kinship with these fish, having been snatched unwillingly from the ocean in the same net and for a moment, I imagined myself scooping them up and throwing them overboard to freedom.
    “Aye, likely dead,” said another voice. “Why else would she be out this far?”
    I blinked away the salt water in my eyes and then sat up, causing a few of the men to jump and gasp.
    “Um,” I said, looking at the grizzled faces that stared back at me. “Hi.”
    The men stood in stunned silence for a long moment, gaping at me.
    “What were you doing in the ocean, wee hen?” asked one of the older men, his beard gray and thick, Grandpa-like.
    “Oh...” I said, drawing out the word as I tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t cause any alarm. A shipwreck wouldn’t work, they’d call the Scottish equivalent of the Coast Guard to report it. No wrecks of any kind. Which left one answer I could give.
    “I was, you know, going for a swim,” I said, smiling wide at my rescuers.
    The six men exchanged looks, raising their eyebrows. For a moment, the only sound was the slapping of the fish as they flopped on the deck and the water lapping at the sides of the boat.
    “Do you...eh...” The gray haired Grandpa-like man gestured toward me, his cheeks reddening. “...usually swim half-clothed? So far from shore?”
    The one inconvenience to being finfolk was that I couldn’t wear clothing on my lower body. If a finfolk changed form while wearing jeans, they would be ripped to tatters, unusable once he or she had changed back into human form. Sure, I could have worn a skirt and been okay, but they had a habit of twisting and bunching up around my waist while I was swimming. They were too annoying for long periods in the water.
    “Oh, right,” I said, looking down at my legs, which were bronzed from a lifetime outdoors. “The current pulled my clothes off.”
    “The current?” the man asked.
    The boat rocked and I reached out to steady myself on a large wooden crate. “It’s pretty rough out there. I don’t recommend going swimming today.” I pulled the waterproof bag off my back and unzipped the biggest pocket. “I have some more clothes with me.”
    The men were decent enough to turn away while I dressed. I wasn’t exactly shy, but I appreciated their gesture. Finfolk quickly got used to being half-naked in front of other people.
    Once I had pulled on a slightly damp pair of jeans—the waterproof bag wasn’t as waterproof as it claimed to be—someone draped a thick woolen blanket over my shoulders for warmth. It was early May, but the air here was much colder than the warm May days I was used to. The water that dripped from my hair and soaked through my shirt was icy.
    I scanned the water’s surface quickly. I hoped Josh wouldn’t try to board the boat to save me. It was hard enough to explain my presence. It would be impossible to explain why two of us were wandering around the ocean half-naked.
    “Care for a cuppa?” the gray haired man asked. “It isn’t good, but it’s hot.”
    I shook my head. “No, thank you. Actually, I should be getting back.” I made a movement toward the side of the boat, but the man lurched forward, grabbing my wrist. He stared at me with wide eyes above round cheeks pink from the cold air.
    “Are you mad?” he asked. “That water is freezing. You can’t possibly think of swimming back to shore.”
    I couldn’t explain to him that finfolk could handle colder water temperatures than humans could. And I couldn’t explain that my