As Oliver walked back, he saw his mother and father running toward him.
“Son, what… What in Saint Andrew’s name did we just see?” Bridget gasped. Oliver held his breath, not sure what he was supposed to say. He knew Fenella wanted to keep her identity a secret, but he couldn’t very well lie to his parents. His father looked out at the sea, watching intently.
“Uh–uhm. You followed us all this way?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if he was more nervous that they saw him holding Fenella’s hand or watching her turn into a furry, blubbery animal.
“That wasn’t my question, boy,” Bridget warned.
“W-Well, Fenella, you see,” he couldn’t find words, “She comes from the sea. She’s a selkie.”
His father jerked his head around. “A selkie, you say? Like from the fairy tales?”
“Aye,” Oliver agreed, slightly comforted that it seemed someone was familiar with the fae.
“I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. I’m dreaming.” Bridget muttered to herself and rubbed her brow. Her husband laid a warm hand on her shoulder. “How about we go inside for some tea first, ay?” She agreed, but looked back to Oliver. He stared out over the ocean one more time.
“Come now, lad. Let’s go home.” His mother hugged him tightly, seeing the pain in his eyes.