Changelings, as denoted by their name, come in many shapes, sizes and temperaments. There are folk who become terrible bestial animals in the light of the full moon. There are also mischievous, devilish creatures that sow discord and strife in their wake with their shape-changing powers. And there are also creatures doomed to live between two worlds, the human and the animal, with one foot, or claw or flipper in one world, and another in the other.
The legend of the Selkie is one such story. Beautiful women cursed by the witch queen of the deep ocean to live as seals for all days of the year but one. On this day they may return to shore and shed their seal skins to walk the green grass and bask under the sun. But before the sun rises on the next dawn they must retrieve their seal skin once more and return to the sea. Should they fail to do so, they will be doomed to forever remain a seal should they ever touch seawater again.
The wind always bit the hardest on the north-west coast of the island. It rolled in off the great grey ocean and burrowed chilly fingers through every tiny gap in the thatch, through every crack in the floorboards and between every nook and cranny of your clothing. Molly pulled her waxed cloak up tighter around her shoulders as she marched along the sea shore, trying to keep her back to the wind which was flecked with drizzle and sea spray. The smell of salt and seaweed filled her nose as it always did and the cry of gulls on the rocks was the regular symphony of life on the coast.
She was making her way across the sand and pebble beach, searching as she always did for interesting driftwood and other flotsam and jetsam. She had been told as a girl that sometimes whole trees from a completely different shore on the far side of the ocean washed up here and had even taken root when they were rescued from the sea's grasps. She had never seen something quite as majestic but she had sometimes come across a gnarled branch that the sea had worn into an interesting shape. And one time when she had been around sixteen she had even found an old sea chest which must have fallen off of some ship. It had been empty except for crabs and seawater, but that old chest still sat back at home by the fireplace, a memento of loot well salvaged.
Although that had been some years ago and Molly was now approaching her twenty-fourth year, she still enjoyed rambling along the beach searching for buried treasure. Today she had found three interesting shells, several fragments of bright blue sea-glass and a lump of wood which reminded her of a cat. It was a small haul but one which made her proud. She would take the objects home, drill holes into the shells and glass to make necklaces and perhaps she would paint the cat-wood to sell in the village.
Besides from her random sea-shore oddities Molly also made good work as a fisherwoman sailing with a crew of four other islanders in a small ship called the Marietta. Her work hauling the nets and rigging of the little sailing ship had given her a robust muscular physique, typical of a lot of the men and women of the island. She had a huge mop of curly red hair which she usually tied back into a practical ponytail and her wide happy face was speckled with a constellation of freckles which grew more numerous in the summer. Her eyes were the deep sea green of many of the island folk, although she had inherited her father's button nose and strong jawline.
For the moment she lived alone in a small cottage on the edge of the village, close to the shoreline. Her father had passed away six winters ago and her mother had sailed off to go live with her sister on the mainland. Although Molly had the rest of the crew that she worked with on the Marietta, they were often off with their own families when they got back to shore, and so she was sometimes a little lonely. She did have the little tabby cat Wallace that she had taken in last summer, but sometimes when she returned to her small thatched hut at night she still felt like there was something missing.
She did sometimes consider leaving the island altogether and sailing off to find a new life somewhere else. The trouble with living in a small village on a small island was that eventually everyone was related to everyone else, and finding a mate could sometimes prove a little problematic. But between the howling gales, roaring sea spray, bleak landscape and the ever-present smell of fish, it wasn't like there were many new folk desperate to come and start a new life here.
Molly looked up from the pebble-strewn beach that she had been marching along and stared out at the horizon. It was mid afternoon and the wind was whipping in from the west, dragging along with it an enormous bank of rain-swollen clouds as dark as pitch. A distant flash of lightning lanced down between the clouds and the sea, followed a moment later by an ominous roll of thunder. She turned about and started making her way quickly back along the shoreline, intent on making it back home before the storm landed. There were few things worse than being out in one of the storms that regularly ripped across the island at this time of year and Molly had every intention to be safe and warm inside by the time it hit.
Just as she was stepping around a slick patch of rock, wet with drizzle, she noticed something unusual on the foreshore. It had not been there when she had made her way through this part of the beach earlier, which was why she noticed it now. It appeared to be a sleek grey seal-skin, like the seals which sometimes rested on the craggy rocks far out on the south-western coastline. This skin appeared to have been perfectly removed from its owner, of which there was no sign, and even more mysteriously, leading away from the skin were several clearly human footprints.
As Molly picked up the skin and examined it, she looked around searching for the bare-footed person who had dropped it. The footsteps moved up towards the scree-slope at the top of the beach and disappeared over the brow of the ridge. Not seeing anyone, and hearing nobody reply when she called out, Molly shrugged and slung the skin over her back to continue on her way back home. She would dry it out by the fire and sell it at the market tomorrow along with the rest of her finds from the day, it should fetch a good price.
- - -
The storm hit just as Molly made it home and she shut and bolted the heavy wooden door behind her against the howling wind. A crack of lightning flashed through the gaps in the shutters and the thunder followed almost immediately afterwards and then came the heavy persistent hissing sound of falling rain. Molly ditched her bag and moved over to the smouldering hearth, stoking the dried peat back to life and adding another dense brick. The little cottage was soon filled with the gentle earthy scent of burning peat and Molly smiled, happy to be home, as she hung the seal skin that she had found in front of the fireplace.
After a brief dinner, she set to work drilling holes into the shells and glass that she had found by the beach to thread into necklaces. She had only a small hand-cranked iron drill to do so, so the task was laborious and took forever. But Molly didn't mind, it gave her mind something to focus on as she sat alone by the light of the fire, listening to the sound of the rain and wind howling outside.
By the time that she had finished, the seal skin had completely dried out and she carefully folded it up before placing it in the large sea chest that she had salvaged years ago. Inside the chest, buried amongst blankets and spare clothes, were a few of her other more precious belongings, including a clay lantern that burned whale oil her mother had gifted her with when she left. Also a set of iron darning needles that she had inherited from her grandmother. And, her pride and joy, the ivory carved set of Tafl pieces that her father had carved for her when she was young. The simple set of twelve white pieces and twenty-four darker pieces with their leather playing board had entertained her and her mother for years during her father's long absences at sea. She had not played it since.
