It was a difficult feat, climbing over the rocks without his arms for balance, and more than once did Eric stumble. In hindsight he ought to have donned his boots beforehand, certainly that would have better protected his feet and might have, if he was lucky, provided some grip on the slick surfaces. He managed without major incident until only a scattering on small boulders and loose rocks remained ahead of him. He sought to use a partly submerged rock as a stepping stone over the final pool, only to slide clumsily from its surface. The pool was not deep, but the bottom was perilously uneven. His ankle rolled painfully, his foot landing with a splash and sending the young man stumbling ungracefully onto the sand. Heart hammering, and sucking air through his teeth, he limped the final few feet and sat down heavily. Miraculously he had kept hold of his purchases, and now placed them beside him, cursing his lack of care.

He extended his right leg before him and testily flexed his foot, gasping as the movement sent a shock of pain through his ankle. Not broken, but not right either. It was of little consequence. He had obtained similar injuries before. The transformation at sunrise would be more painful than usual, but following that it would seem as though nothing had happened. His bones would reset themselves. He didn't know why, or how, but it was perhaps the one perk of his situation; the ability to heal, quite literally, overnight.

Eric set his boots to one side—he would have to wait to test their fit—and set about constructing a fire, shuffling somewhat awkwardly across to release the rope on account of his damaged joint. It was far from the worst injury he could remember. When he was a boy he had been playing on these rocks at twilight. His mother had warned him to be careful and he had failed to heed her advice. He had slipped, his foot landing in a jagged crevice, his leg snapping in two at the shin. It had been excruciating, the reforming of his tail even more so, but swimming home had been no trouble once the shock had subsided, and his legs had returned that night as good as new. It had bewildered them both, but ultimately the injury had been short-lived, and for that they could be only relieved.

The moon was well advanced by the time Ariel arrived that night, the still low tide making her approach a little difficult, but she managed to lift herself over the rocks to settle on the sand beside her friend.

'Sorry I'm late,' she apologised, 'my sisters were chatting for ages.'

Eric dismissed her apology as unnecessary. He had slept the day away and remained wakeful despite the late hour. Her punctuality—or lack thereof—made no difference to him.

'I'm just pleased to see you again,' he admitted. In truth he had been a little impatient for her arrival, eager to see her reaction to the things had brought her, but delayed on favour of courtesy. 'How was your day?'

'Not nearly as much fun as it would have been with you,' responded Ariel, recollecting what had been a day of dullness and rigidity.

She had, as instructed, spent her day with Attina. They had attended lessons in singing, elocution and history, and attended afternoon tea with a decrepit Duchess with a multitude of minor ailments and obsession for perfection. Ariel had lost count of the number of times she'd been sharply instructed to correct her posture. How Attina could pass her days that way and still retain her sanity was beyond her! She had, however, dutifully played her part, such was the price of relieving her father's suspicions; and besides, it was easier to bear knowing what awaited her come nightfall.

Eric, when asked, admitted to his day being entirely uneventful and readily agreed this meeting to be the highlight. 'Though I did get you a few things,' he added. He had concealed his purchases in a sailcloth, which he now revealed, placing the makeshift sack between them.

Ariel clasped her hands before her gleefully. 'From the shipwrecks?' she guessed.

'From the village.'

It took the Princess a moment to understand what he meant. 'Truly!' she gasped. 'What was it like?'

Eric did his best to explain the close and cobbled streets, the shop windows alight with the promise of warmth and the soft light they spilled forth onto the pavement. He described the ribbons of purple sky between the rooftops and the stars that bloomed there one by one, how the idle chatter of the people there coexisted with the distant rush of the sea, and the scents that danced upon the breeze.

All the while Ariel listened with deepening rapture. He made it sound entirely magical, more wonderful, even, than she had envisioned it. She was entirely envious that her friend had experienced such a place, though no less desirous to hear his recollection.

'And what did you find there?' she asked, come the conclusion of Eric's description.

'I tried to find something new,' he explained, 'something, like fire, that you wouldn't find at the shipwrecks.'

He reached into the fold of cloth and selected first the brown paper bag, in which the food items sat nestled together. The decision as to what he ought to show her first was entirely selfish, driven by his own hunger, but he decided that the order in which he chose to reveal his gifts truly didn't matter.

'You once asked me what humans ate,' he reminded her, holding out one of the peaches for her taking. 'This is just one example. It's fruit, a peach.'

Ariel accepted the fuzzy ball with both hands, cradling the item in cupped palms. It looked a little like certain types of urchin she thought, turning it over and running her fingers over the soft skin, though it was unlikely to be poisonous—she hoped not anyway.

'Do you eat all of it?' she wondered, pleased to see upon looking up that Eric had one too. He shook his head.

'There's a stone in the centre, about so big'—he made a small circle with his thumb and forefinger—'you leave that, just eat the soft part around it.' His mother had told him that by planting such seeds you could, over many years, grow a tree and produce your own fruit; but that would conjure more questions that it would answer. Another time perhaps. Ariel was watching him, waiting for guidance as to how to go about this. So, trusting his mother—for the first time in a while—Eric raised the fruit to his lips and took his first bite.

Ariel copied the movement, teeth piercing the soft flesh and offering her tastebuds a new experience. Both she and Eric looked to one another in surprise, peach juice dribbling down their chins and dripping to the sand. Had either been alone in this they may well have felt embarrassed by their messiness, together they only smiled. It was delicious. Sweet and fresh and entirely unlike anything either had tried before.

Eric, less inclined to revel in its newness, devoured his in no time at all—realising his greed only when noticing that his companion had barely begun, and feeling a little sheepish about it—his shirt stained by a trail of yellowish dots. Unlike her friend, Ariel was determined to savour every mouthful, allowing the juice to seep over her tongue so that she might commit it's taste firmly to memory. It far surpassed the food they were served in Atlantica.

Between bites she chased Eric up on its name; was it a fruit or a peach? He had said both. He explained the difference as she ate, that fruit was a wider term, and promised to bring her others one day: strawberries, pears, apples—his mother's favourite—oranges, blackberries. The list went on, and Ariel's wonderment deepened with the introduction of so many new words.

At last she finished, sucking the juice from the slips of pulp which clung resolutely to the stone, desirous not to waste any at all.

'Room for something else?' asked Eric.

Ariel nodded eagerly, licking from her lips the last of the peach's sticky sweetness.

Eric took his share of what remained and handed her the bag, watching with affection her wonder as she unwrapped the second food item. Fruit had its likenesses underwater; sea cucumbers, though living, were not a million miles away. But there could be no use for a bakery under the sea, baked goods like that which they now held were unique only to the surface world.

'It's a hot cross bun,' he said, guessing her question before the words left her mouth. 'I wish I could explain how it was made but I don't think I can.' This was true for two reasons. One; because he didn't know. Two; even if he did, how could he possibly hope to explain the process of baking and the methodical combination of necessary ingredients needed to produce such an item? Flour, butter, sugar, eggs... he was sure he could talk for hours and still fall short of accuracy. Could they make something here if he obtained the ingredients, over the fire? He wasn't sure. A question for his mother perhaps.

Once again they took their first bite together, eyes closing in rapture. Pillowy softness gave way to a sticky density which stuck to the roof of their mouths and was freed only by hard working tongues. The baker had been right though, and this time Eric matched Ariel's patience, his initial hunger lessened that he might enjoy the treat at his leisure.

The little mermaid could hardly convince herself that she wasn't dreaming as she swallowed her last mouthful. For Eric to teach her the use of what she already held in her collection was one thing, but for him to go in search of something in the hope that she would like it... it was more than anyone had done for her before, certainly more than she felt she deserved. How could she ever repay this kindness? A thought struck her then; what had he traded for all this? She hoped that it wasn't anything too valuable, not for her sake.

'Eric this is... it's perfect,' she began, not merely in regards to the food, though it had tasted incredible. 'I don't know how to thank you.'

'You don't have to, it's enough to see you smile,' he admitted. And smile she did, her cheeks colouring a little. 'There's more though, unless you'd rather wait.'

Ariel shook her head, her smile widening, and Eric pulled forth the flowers, tied together at the stems with a yard of string. He held them out for her. 'Not a new concept, perhaps,' he admitted, 'but they differ from those that grow underwater.'

Ariel took them as though there existed nothing more fragile.

It was not a conventional bunch of flowers, far from it, Eric had intentionally accumulated a selection existing of no two the same, from a magnificent pink rose to the most delicate forget-me-not. Also a trumpet-like white lily, a carnation, an iris, a cornflower, a daffodil and a densely packed lilac delphinium. He named each as Ariel came to it; some he knew, some had been recommended by the florist, and it took him several minutes to recall their name to memory. He didn't, as Ariel might have believed, know everything.

Ariel studied each, enchanted by their fragrance, the silky petals gliding between her fingertips. She had seen such flowers from afar during her lone trips to the surface, bursts of colour upon the hillside, never had she expected to hold them, to observe their painted blooms up close.

'Eric they're beautiful,' she commented, eyes shining with gratitude.

'They are,' he agreed. He could, he believed, have searched for an eternity and never found a view so heavenly as that which he now looked upon.

The flowers would not last long though, he realised. He ought to have found some form of container, filled it with fresh water from the well or the brook. Would salt water sustain them? He didn't know. He didn't think so. Perhaps they could find another use for them whilst they remained thriving. An idea came to him then, though he waited until Ariel had satisfied her curiosity before venturing to suggest it.

He unveiled his second gift and presented it without a word, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Ariel complied, she would figure this one out herself. She ran her fingers along the folded ridges, turned the item over in her hands and then over again. There were three points and a dome at the centre which reminded her of a bowl, the ceramics of which her grotto had boasted nine in total. None had looked like this. They had been harder too, less forgiving, this dome dented at her touch and swiftly sprung back into shape. Not a bowl then. She flipped it the other way, the dome now convex, held it up. She recalled her initial supposition to the use of a bowl, likening it to the helmets worn by her father's guards. This was entirely dissimilar, and yet... perhaps not. She lowered it to her head and watched as Eric's smile grew.

'It suits you,' he commented.

Ariel suspected him of dishonesty. She didn't mind though, surely there wasn't a person alive who wouldn't look ridiculous is such attire.

'It's a helmet,' she surmised.

'It's a hat,' Eric corrected, 'a helmet is one type, this is another. It's called a tricorn.'

Hats were not worn by merfolk. Instead they decorated their hair with pins, clips, or ribbons, better secured against the current.

'So, if soldiers wear helmets, what sort of a person would wear this?' asked Ariel.

'Sailors,' responded Eric, 'some even decorate them, feathers mostly, but we'll have to make do.'

Ariel gasped, catching onto his idea in an instant. 'Will you show me how?'

Eric nodded, took the string that had held the flowers together and tied a knot in one end. Then picking the iris, he eased a hole into its stem with his fingernail and threaded the end of the string through it.

'Something like that,' he concluded.

Ariel squealed in delight and set about copying his action with the remaining flowers, threading them one by one—some more easily than others—onto the slim line, her creation laying upon the sand between she and Eric, filling steadily. At the addition of the last flower Eric stood, gritted his teeth against the forgotten pain in his ankle, and hobbled to stand above Ariel. His reaction didn't evade her notice.

'Eric, you're hurt!' she gasped, noticing for the first time the bruising and swelling of his foot. She felt guilty all of a sudden, for not realising sooner and at the possibility of his obtaining the injury in his desire to please her, to fetch all these wonderful things. 'Sit down,' she instructed, catching his elbow.

He assured her that he was fine, though lowered himself to sit beside her, the gentle waves lapping at his injured foot as he outstretched it. It was cold, but soothing.

She passed him the flowers and he reached up to loop it around the crown of the hat, securing it with another knot and adjusting the selection of flora as necessary, the flowers erupting at the three corners, vivid against the black fabric.

It was... comical, if not entirely unflattering, and the sight of it atop Ariel's head made Eric smile. Ariel shuffled over to a pool and leaned over the water, holding the hat in place as she did so. In catching her reflection couldn't help but giggle. She returned to Eric's side.

'Now you,' she prompted, lifting the headpiece with both hands and offering it to him.

Eric accepted, eyes dancing with amusement and donned the garment with a certainty that it would look entirely absurd. He would, however, play the fool willingly, if only to make Ariel laugh. And laugh she did, though not unkindly, the sort of infectious laughter than soon had him in stitches; he could only imagine how he looked.

It that moment both were able to forget their troubles, and the rest of the world with them. In that moment all that existed was humour and gaiety, two friends enjoying one another's company, like any two friends in the world.