Selchie

Time for a break from Recuperative Valkyrien. You have the Lady Redjay to blame for this one again. She had a dream in which a few of my characters met one of hers. She told me of this dream, and it led to this tale. Well. Indirectly. I was wanting a drawing of Gorm and Vixen. She wanted a story to match the dream. We did a trade, this was the result. Well this, and a Chibi of the two in there Samhain outfits (which are written and just not posted). Chronologically this probably happens a year or so, maybe two after the events I be currently chronicling. Tale and most of the characters Copyright Jared G. Juckiewicz. Muirgen belongs to Lamia Macdonald, used with permission. I shouldn't need to give warnings for Valkyrien tales by this point, however, violence is about the only needing voiced for this tale. Oh, and this is chapter one of three.
Translationny things: - Boucaneer is french, the origin of the word bucanneer. Has something to do with smoking beef (Don't ask. Long and complicated) Basically refers to pirates, especially these days.
Siochain is Irish Gaelic, means Peace.


Leave again. And after the debacle that was the Philipines, we decided to go somewhere a little closer to home. It had been a long time since I'd done any proper sailing, especially blue-water stuff. And longer still since I'd last been in the Carribean. Sailing with the notorious Captain Renard as a Boucaneer. It had taken a lot of convincing for some of the others. Vixen was easy. And Lydia. Tyrone was fairly easy, being as he was Gall-Gaedhil, and Lir of course was always fond of travelling at sea. Even Elf was fairly easy to recruit. Illus on the other hand, not so much... Not fond of Running Water, the Wampyrri. But, we figured, we line the bottom of the boat with earth, and he'd be fine. Turned out we were right.
So there we were, with a fair sized yacht. A thirty meter ketch, three cabins. Vixen and I had the smallest. Elf and Lydia had one that was barely any bigger, and Illus, Tyrone and Lir shared the largest. It was good weather, had been the entire trip. Lir had abandoned us to go and tread the Bimini Road. The rest of sailed, from Florida to Bermuda. From there we thought to sail around Vixen and my old haunts. Port Royal. Tortuga. San Eustatius. Ports once English and French and Dutch. But not Spanish. The Spaniards, they were less than fond of us. At present, it was almost dawn. We were just about to take over from Illus who had held the helm all night long. Vixen and I were at the bow, preparing to rig the foresail, when we heard a splash and a thud. Possibly just a fish jumping onto the diving platforms at the stern, but I figured best safe than sorry. Wasn't unheard of for ships to go missing where we were. An area known for dissappearances. The Bermuda Triangle. So's I shift into my Wolf form. I shake myself, and begin to creep round the cabin. Sniffing as I go. There is a strange scent that I don't recognise. It smells of humans, but not. And of the Sea, but not the sea of these parts. The northern oceans. And... an old Norse Kitbag? No, a sealskin, with the seal still attached. Good eating Seals, especially a big grey seal, like this one seems to be.
So naturally, I go to eat it. Stalking forwards, towards the beast, a low growl in my throat. It's a clumsy looking beast, but they move bloody quick when they wish to. Which is why my first lunge is met by the thing spinning about and belting me in the nose with it's tail. I hop back with a snarl, and swipe at the seals muzzle with a paw. Only to have said muzzle yank back and clamp on the limb. I could feel a crack as the bones in the paw fractured, but I ignored the pain, swiping again with the other paw. My claws tear bloody rivulets along the side of the Seal's muzzle, and it releases its grip. I limp back a pace, looking for a place to strike, as it rears back on its haunches and hisses at me. I draw back, ready to pounce, only to feel hands twining in my fur. "Gorm," Vixen's voice is hard, and worried. "That's no seal, Gorm." I keep growling, hackles raised, as Illus and Tyrone come up from below decks. Tyrone gasps, and rushes between us. "Calm, Gorm." he tells me, and then turns to face the Seal. "siochán, selchie!" He commanded, and the Seal wormed her way back, to the edge of the boat. Tyrone turned his attention back to me. "She is Selchie, Sealfolk. Could you not scent the Fae about her?" He asked and I shook my head. I dropped to my belly, and flattened my ears back, a gesture of submission to be taken as apology. The seal mirrored my movements, and then we rose to a comfortable position. Vixen looked at Tyrone. "What does she want?" She asked, and Tyrone shook his head. "Havnae a clue. I'll ask her shall I?"