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What sort of magic did this girl possess?
I sighed with all the weight of this new world I’d been thrust into. “Do you...do you think you could do me a favour?”
Her eyes lit up and her shoulders pinned back with importance. A silver chain around her neck glittered with a whale tail charm.
I caught myself wanting to touch it. To touch her. To ask her about her necklace and why she seemed so at home on the sea and why she could speak to a pod of dolphins and just who the hell was she.
But then I blinked again and forced myself to truly look at her.
To see the child she was.
A child who beamed with trust and newness and purity.
“Of course! I mean...it’s not like I didn’t do you a favour by saving your life or anything. After that big favour, everything else will be tiny.” She leaned forward, her nose wrinkling adorably. “Let me guess. You want...” Peering around the room, she tapped her lips with pink-painted fingernails. Her gaze fell on the sink in the corner. “Water! You want a drink. I always want a drink after swimming. Mum doesn’t believe me, but I reckon my skin soaks up the salt. I get ever so thirsty.”
Launching off the bed, she charged for the sink, grabbed a paper cup from a strange-looking holder beside it, and filled it.
I practically fell off the bed with desperation as she brought it to me.
I snatched it off her.
I poured it down my throat.
Two swallows and the meagre amount was gone.
I lost all concept of politeness. “More. A thousand times more.”
With a stern little look, she took back my empty cup and marched to the sink again. This time she filled it to the brim, sloshing precious water all over her hand as she crossed the distance and handed it to me warily.
I did my best not to snatch it from her this time, but it was difficult.
She didn’t wait for me to drink.
Running back to the sink, she looked around for something bigger and settled on the measuring jug one of the doctors had used to measure the plaster ingredients before wrapping my arm with bandages and smearing hot goo all over me.
My lips smacked together as she filled it.
So long.
It took so long for it to fill.
And when it was full, she struggled to carry it, clutching it tightly to her chest, dousing herself as she walked with utmost concentration across the ward.
I took it from her as if it was liquid gold.
I drank from it as if it contained holy water.
And only once the last droplet landed on my grateful tongue did I slowly lower the jug, wipe my mouth with the back of my non-cast hand, and look up. “How old are you?” I asked quietly.
She startled as if she hadn’t expected me to ask. With a tilt of her chin, she held out her arms for the empty jug. “Twelve. How old are you?”
Twelve?
“Sixteen,” I muttered. “I turn seventeen in December.”
“Wow, you’re old.” She placed the jug on the side table where a board of medical buttons and important-looking wires reminded us exactly where we were. “I mean, you’re like ancient. I should probably have let the sharks eat you. You’re so over the hill it’s not even funny.” Planting her hands on her hips again, she grinned. “You know what? My dad has a speargun. I’ll get him to put you out of your misery, okay? Ah shoot.” She smashed her hands over her lips again. “I did it again.”
This time, I did chuckle.
