She kept to that lake and thereabouts for the rest of her free-spirited jaunt for the first time in a new place. It was a cool place to drink from and rinse off, and it was relatively secluded. She made a mental note to look up the name of this particular "loch" on a map when she got a chance next. She wouldn't be overstaying her welcome officially for another six days, so until then she was a happy American tourist as far as anyone else was concerned. Portland Oregon was nice if you went up into the woods or the mountains, but she'd lived in the city. She was a small town country girl from the start, and she'd have never moved to Portland if she'd known how bleak it was going to be. Plus there had been this guy…
She had come here to get AWAY from her problems in the US. It did her no good to think back on that crap NOW. Not now that she was a four legged beast in the land of some of her ancestors, running free for the first time in years. She was an oddly colored horse, as most werehorses tended to be. In her case, it was the honey-brown colored mane and tail. It was her hair color in human form, too, and she had no idea where the Apaloosa spots and the white coat came from. She contended with vets, people trying to coral or buy her, and even once let herself be sold to help a friend who needed money for bills. She's run off soon after from that new "owner", and only felt a little bad for cheating them out of that money. To them she'd been a horse, no one knew of werecreatures. Wolves were the more popular and they would never come out of hiding.
No, it was best if people like her stayed hidden where they had been for centuries. She would never have to watch the news and hear something like "public outcry over military use of werecats for overseas stealth missions" or something to that effect. And the humans would damn well do it. The general attitude would be 'if they couldn't make themselves useful, what good were they really?' Just freaks of nature who could do something neat that the human population would never be able to do, and jealousy always led to violence. No, they were best left alone.
She wasn't the only one who thought so, nor were werecreatures the only supernatural thing still hiding. There were werecats, bats, weasels, wolves of course, foxes, even whales. Imagine being a werewhale, and needing to take a swim every full moon. It tended to run in families, or be passed down through generations, as it had with her. She could only imagine her mother's horror when she went to feed her at two and had instead found a large foal who wouldn't eat macaroni and cheese.
She was thinking all these thoughts in her mind, and didn't pay much mind to the sound of water behind her. The sky WAS overcast and the wind was blowing a little. She put it down to choppy water and had done with it. She leaned down and let her inner horse have a taste of some of the wild sweetgrass as it started to rain, and she stood up and shook herself out. She didn't mind a little rain. Water never hurt anyone. She couldn't swim as well as a horse as when she was human but she could still swim if the lake decided to overflow.
She heard another horse behind her, and looked behind her in surprise. She hadn't smelled any other horses, a few sheep that had passed days ago, but no horses. Nor had she seen a sign of other horses, but one stood there at the shore of the lake, watching her closely. She backed up a few steps and threw an inviting whinny at it, sort of saying hello, but the other horse just stayed still. It had silvery eyes and a dark brown coat, wet like seal skin and its mane was pale and sopping wet, curled and tangled with various lake weeds. It had gills. Horses did not have gills. She took another sniff, and under the scent of horse caught something that smelled cold, and electric… She had never met a witch or a fae, but the sight of the thing brought to mind stories of kelpies she had read somewhere. Water horses that lured unwitting people onto its back only to drown them and eat all but their liver or heart. If werecreatures existed, well why not fae or vampires?
She thought it would be wise not to anger him, for it took a step towards her and she saw that it was male. She never had met one of the fair folk as her old storybooks called them, but if half the stories were true, she didn't want to be the first to find out what happened when one of them met a not-human. She made a nervous sort of noise and backed up a little more, away from the lake because clearly that was what he was defending. Still he advanced on her. His mane was longer than hers was, and tangled with wet grass and his hooves were a dull dark blue and mud-caked. He bugled a challenging cry at her, and she answered by lowering her head and pushing her ears back. No threat, no threat all around.
Either he didn't believe her, or he wanted to know what she was, because one moment she was staring at a water horse and the next she was staring at what appeared to be a completely normal human man. He wore a kilt, old-school styled with a sash across the breasts, and a loose, open-throated shirt. His hair was overlong, down to the small of his back, still curled and still wet. His eyes were the same silver.
"What are you, an' why've you disturbed my loch?" he demanded.
She couldn't talk in horse form, but to change would leave her naked. She normally didn't mind it, and she didn't think creatures so close to nature would care about nudity either, so she changed back. A few bone stretches later, and she was herself again, mid-length honey-brown hair and gray green eyes.
"Werehorse," she replied meekly, offering a halfhearted sort of wave. She wasn't normally so timid, but until she got a feel for this guy… thing… creature… whatever he was, she didn't dare let him hear her tongue.
He took a few brisk, no-nonsense steps towards her, and stopped a foot away. He wasn't blinking. It was a bit unnerving.
"What is a werehorse from the New World doing so very far from home?" he asked, somewhat softer. His accent was Ireland, the oldest and thickest. The way he spoke reminded her of someone who's first language was not English. Up this close, the silver of his eyes was striking… he had decided to be a stereotype and turn into something pretty to look at. Perhaps the fairy folk DID enjoy being looked at.
"Uhm… vacation?" she offered.
"Hmph," was all he said. He took her by the face in one hand, no questions asked and more out of reflex, and she pulled away from him with a frown and a growl that was very unhorselike. He kept his grip on her chin. His hands were cold, his fingers strong.
He stared into her face for a moment and she felt like she was being examined.
She was quiet, figuring he'd find whatever it was he was looking for. Finally he let her go, leaving her skin damp in some spots though his fingers had been dry a moment before.
"What was that all about?" she huffed, rubbing at her jaw.
"Nothin' to concern a werehorse. Stay away from my loch," he said sternly, and he started to walk back into the water.
"So no swimming?" she called to his retreating back.
"Not 'less ye want to be dinner," he called back, and then he was gone.
Well that was an interesting first day out for her.