Wishes on a Tide ✓ | talesofthedeep

part one of one.

You know three things.

One: Your name is Marin.

Two: You built this home with your own two hands.

Three: Your beloved is still out in the water, somewhere.

——

"Come quick! The witch is still inside today!"

Marin hears the delighted shrieks of children and the thumping of their feet on grass before she sees them. Looking up, there's Tycho, with his head of wind-ruffled, sun-bleached hair, jumping up and down to wave at her through the window. He's tall enough now to peer in if he stood on his tiptoes, but he's always been a bundle of energy.

She smiles, waves with her fingers, and points at the open door, watches as Tycho's eyes light up. The little trio of them go round the corner of her house, and file in without knocking. At least Saer has the decency to scrape her sandals at the gravel outside before entering — she's always been the sweetest one of them all. "Hello," she greets with a little curtsey, before joining Tycho and their other friend Pip, who have already started poking around in Marin's kitchen.

It's not always that she lets strangers into her home, but she makes an exception for them. They're loud, she supposes, and have little to no manners. But being called a witch is better than being surreptitiously avoided, which the adults in their little seaside town do. The children's presence is a pleasant break from the monotony and self-imposed solitude at the lighthouse, and she still gets the silence she finds herself craving after the sun sets. Besides, it's not as if the children meant to call her that insultingly — she's not even sure if she is or isn't a witch in the first place.

"Miss Witch," Pip calls, pattering over to join Marin at her dining table, where she's gathering her things for her daily walk to the sea. "What are you doing?" He asks, as if they've never visited her before, never seen what she does every single day. Marin thinks he just likes asking things. But curiosity is a fine trait, and she'll do nothing to discourage it, even if his mother constantly berates him for poking his nose where it doesn't belong.

"Would you like to help?" Marin asks him in return, gesturing to the mess of sea-grass on the table. "I'm making bundles of them, with each one consisting of as much as a hand can grasp. Then, I tie a string around the middle, so that I can put them on my shelf to use later." She slides one of the prepared bundles across the table, to where Pip is standing, and he leans closer to inspect it, prodding at the processed bits of fibre. "Like so."

"I can tie strings!" Tycho interrupts from across the room, gingerly putting a bottle back down where it was before joining Pip at the dinner table as well. "Father says I make the most beautiful bows. You'll have the prettiest bundles of sea-grass on the continent when I'm done!"

Of course, pretty bundles of sea-grass mean nothing when they'll sit aside for a few more days, before she has the time to turn them into baskets, but she's not sure Tycho knows, and she's not sure if he cares, either. Leaving the two boys to it, she casts her gaze around her cozy space, before she finds Saer, staring up at her cabinet of curiosities.

"Do you like them?" she asks, stepping closer to where the little girl is. "Would you like to take a closer look?"

Saer looks up at her, expression all expectant, and nods, flushing slightly as she turns back and points upwards. "The seashell, please," she whispers.

Marin opens the cabinet and takes out the conch shell. It's brown-beige, with some spots and blotches, not anything particularly special, other than the sheer size of it. She leans down and holds it toward Saer's ear. "Do you hear anything?"