Droplets

“Don’t wander too far from the path, Briona!”
         A short young woman with hair the color of flax smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “Don’t worry, mother, I’m just going to sit by the river a while,” she stated, turning to skip towards the sound of running water, skirts swishing in the tall grass surrounding the lonely path through the woods. Happy humming followed her as she went; her mother looked on as she headed off, shaking her head tiredly with a small smile.
         Briona drank in the sight of the sparkling river, the sound of gurgling water reminding her of laughter, even as the light refracted off the water’s surface, causing it to look as though it were winking at her. The river seemed like a person all its own, and it made Briona smile in amusement at the thought. She knelt at the riverbank, scooping her hands into the cold water and splashing her face with it in an attempt to cool herself from the persistent heat that summer’s day had brought. She thought she saw something move in the water out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned to look, there was nothing but the water, still sparkling. Shaking her head, Briona moved a little ways back from the riverbank and lay down in the cool grass. Was she seeing things? Or was her mother’s high-strung suspicions, her constant tales of fantastic creatures both good and bad, only brought on from personal experience? Her mother had never told her of seeing something herself, but…
         Heaving a sigh, Briona spread her arms out to either side and grabbed up fistfuls of the grass, humming a lullaby under her breath as she closed her eyes, the sunlight making the backs of her eyelids look orange. Eventually, she ceased to hum, the chirping of crickets and the laughing water lulling her to sleep.

--

         Drip.
         Drip.
         A muscle in Briona’s cheek twitched. Slowly, she awoke, becoming aware of the sun’s warmth on her skin and the tickle of grass beneath her. She inhaled, smelling the fresh outdoors scent, and something…something wet…?
         “Mmm…” she moaned, disappointed at the fact that she had to get up, she realized, and head back to the camp before her mother thought she’d been taken by woodland fairies. Her long eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as she blinked, unused to the brightness of the day.
         Drip.
         “Huh…?”
         Confused, she brought her hand to touch her cheek, feeling…wetness? Briona’s eyes flew open.
         A startled male face loomed over hers, tendrils of black hair hanging over his white-robed shoulder dripping water onto her cheek. He stayed there, frozen, until Briona cautiously reached out a hand to his face…which is when he turned and ran.
         Before Briona could even scramble to a sitting position, there was a loud splash. Looking over the river, Briona could see nothing out of the ordinary, though—certainly no black-haired men in the river, as far as she could tell. And a quick scan of the surrounding forest showed no sign of him there, either. Had it just been her imagination, then? Was she still dreaming, even then? Pinching herself hard, however, only made her suck air in through her teeth as her nails dug painfully into her skin.
         Seriously? Then…what just happened?
         Perhaps her mother’s paranoia about mythical beings and creatures was finally getting to her. She thought that perhaps she had just seen some sort of curious water sprite…a very handsome one, albeit. He’d certainly had good looks going for him. Maybe…no, not a mermaid, they had tails, didn’t they? They couldn’t possibly get as far away from the river as she had been (and still was, she noted) up on the bank.
         Either way, the river’s laughing water was starting to make her apprehensive. As though something might pop out of it at any moment and startle her. She narrowed her eyes at it suspiciously. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to stay long enough to figure it out—perhaps try to command the water spirit to show itself, not that it would necessarily work, knowing how mischievous and often defiant mythical beings tended to be of humans—or just get as far away from that winking waterway as possible.
         Wavering between one choice and the other, Briona pursed her lips and stood, turning her back on the river.
         “…You know…you don’t scare me,” she said over her shoulder, not quite daring to look back at the river behind her, before promptly setting off for the camp, the eerie feeling of being watched following her the entire way there.
         She didn’t dare look back.

--

         “Briona! Don’t you dare do that ever again, you had me worried sick with how long you were gone!” her mother snapped, scowling at her as she stirred the stew bubbling merrily over the small fire her father had made. “I’d thought a nix might have lured you into the river.”
         At her mother’s words, something clicked into place in her mind.
         I’d thought a nix might have lured you into the river.
         A nix might have …
         A nix.
         “So that’s what it was,” she breathed, eyes wide; she turned away from her mother so she wouldn’t see the awed and, indeed, panicked expression on her face. She quickly covered her face with her hands.
         I could have died.
         I could have died.
         Oh, heavens, I could have died.
         “Briona, dear, come eat some stew before it gets cold.”
         The girl closed her eyes, running her hands over face as she schooled her expression back to its neutral state. She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and as she exhaled, all of the tenseness that had built up in her body ever since that odd riverside encounter seemed to blow out of her with the air.
         “Yes, mother,” she said as she turned with a hint of a smile.
         At least I know I will never be going to the river alone again.

--

         Briona tossed and turned in her makeshift bed in the back of her family’s covered wagon, her dreams anything but sweet.
         Her subconscious showed her images of how that day could have gone—images of her, being pulled underwater by the man with long black hair…her hands moved to her throat…it hurt…she couldn’t breathe…
         Briona flew into a sitting position, gasping and sputtering for air; she had unconsciously stopped breathing when her dream had taken her underwater. She reached up to touch her throat, which still seemed to be throbbing with a ghost of the pain she had felt in her dream…
         A soft noise drew her attention as her breathing quieted. It was a lyrical sound, lilting, and it captivated her. As though in a trance, Briona drew the covers back that lay in a jumbled mess around her and slipped out of the wagon, following the noise to its source. Her bare feet skimmed the dewy grass, but she paid no heed to the fact that she wore no shoes, nor even a robe over top of her plain white nightgown. In what seemed no time at all, she was standing in front of the source of the sound.
         The man with long, black hair wearing flowing white robes sat perched on a rock in the middle of the river, a silver flute held to his lips as he played a haunting melody. His eyes flickered open as Briona approached the riverbank, and the moment the flute was lowered from his lips, it was as though a rope pulling her towards him had been cut.
         And as the bewitching music had impaired her perception, the tension and fear of being close to the dangerous nix flooded through her.
         Breathe. Breathe, Briona. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Don’t panic or you’ll end up doing something stupid and dangerous.
         Those curious eyes that hid the danger that man posed seemed to be asking a question. But rather than hearing him speak aloud, she heard a whisper in her mind.
         Who are you…?
         She felt like collapsing. The situation was overwhelming her; there was too much to take in. The moonlight filtering through the treetops seemed glaringly bright, focused on her like a spotlight as she struggled to keep from hyperventilating at all these things she could hardly comprehend, all happening at once.
         “Bri…Briona,” she managed to bite out. Thankfully her sense of self-preservation had kicked her brain into overdrive, and she thought to ask in what she hoped was a none-too-obvious tone, “What’s your name?”
         He visibly tensed. Shrewd eyes raked over her, a glimpse of calculating and cold, before they reverted back to the calm, welcoming appearance of before.
         How uncute.
         “You have to answer. You have no choice.”
         His sharp glare cut through her, causing her breath to hitch, but she stood her ground, refusing to look away.
         …Melith.
         “You know I could destroy you now that I know your name.”
         Such a hostile wench.
         “I have reason to be when my life is on the line.”
         You will rue the day you angered a nix.
         “Actually, I’m fairly sure I’ll be glad I did it when I live to a ripe old age and you die cold and alone,” she said unthinkingly before she realized her position.
         Maybe not as alone as you’d think.
         Melith darted forward through the water at an imperceptible rate, and as his hands wrapped around her wrists and pulled her towards him, she barely had time to shriek in response—
         “Melith!”
         The nix roared in pain as she plunged below icy water, clutching at his chest as he doubled over. His body began to change, bones popping out of place and shifting as they shrank. His features contorted, nose lengthening to a short muzzle. He grew sleek brown fur, whiskers, and sharp claws…
         Trapped back inside of his original form, the once-glorious nix had become no more than a small otter. Drained from the shift and the binding magic he had been subjected to, he managed to crawl weakly up onto the riverbank, cursing the girl whose his curiosity about had been his undoing. The lonely existence of the nix had caused him to make a fatal mistake, and, fully knowing of this fact, he shut his eyes, and drew his last breath.
         Maybe not as alone as you’d think.
         Disoriented and unable to find her way back to the surface, Briona struggled not to inhale as she fought, grasping for anything—a rock, the riverbed, anything—and ultimately failed. Black spots, hardly noticeable, crept over her vision.
         She inhaled.
         As she coughed, choked, and inhaled again, her mind echoed back the nix’s words.

         Maybe not as alone as you’d think.