"What're you on about?"

"My family donnae think I'm dead!"

"Who said they did?"

"You!"

"I never said anything like that!"

"Ya did!"

"I didnae! You're fockin' crazy!"

"I am not!"

"Look, if you wanna go, door's there, barra. You can leave whenever you wannae. No one's stopping you. Go if you like. I donnae care. But, y'know, you wonnae."

"Donnae think so?"

"Nah. Too good. Leeching offa me, not doing a damn thing—too good. You need me. Cannae care for yerself. Nowhere to go."

"…"

"…"

"I donnae need you."

"…I…donnae…"

"If you donnae need me, if you wanna go, door's there, barra. Can go whenever ya like. But you didnae. Must be happy, right?"

"Happy? Happy fighting all the time? Happy with all the horrid things you say to meh?"

"Dunnae what yer on about. If you were unhappy, you'd leave. Be totally loony otherwise."

"I'm not loony."

"Then yer happy."

Sean had infinitely less to say as he led the Pines further northward. Ford had wanted to see as many of the island's creatures as he could, "and the day is still so young!", and the guide couldn't help but oblige. He was trying, Stan could tell, but his tells were glaring; it was a wonder that Ford didn't notice himself.

"These woods are littered with fae," Sean informed, just loud enough for the twins to hear. His fingers played with the brim of his knit cap; his left hand hadn't let it alone for the duration of their journey. "Some bauchan, too. Small lot, but still there. Nocturnal, typically. Donnae much care fer humans."

Ford noted everything Sean said assiduously; fortunately, his apprehensions provided the scientist with the opportunity to doodle more of the forest and some of the creatures that hadn't been found by the river.

"And…and yer sure you wanna see the northside beach?" Stan counted four times now that Sean had asked.

"Of course!" Stan counted four times now that Ford hadn't noticed their guide's discomfort. Ford did spare a passing glance, though more as way of affirming his conviction. "If that's where the cryptids are, that's where we must go."

"Makes sense." Sean folded in on himself visibly. "I did tell you lot that it's, erm, more dangerous there, didnae? More things what wanna eat you and…"

"I think we're more than capable of handling ourselves." Ford shot his brother a knowing smile. Stan had to return it, missing Sean's unsettled frown. "What lives up there that has you so spooked?"

A yelping bark of a laugh unintentionally tumbled from Sean's lips. "A bit o' this and that. There's-there's selkies and ceasg—y'know, nothing frightening—they'll have more fear of you than you of them—but…then there's some other things." His eyes shifted, not as if in a lie, more like a stalked beast. "Finfolk and knuckers and sharks and serpents and undines—"

"Sharks? At the beach?"

Sean blinked. "Er, near the beach, I guess."

"Hm. Interesting." Ford's pen began scratching at the journal's pages again. Considering the information, Ford mused to himself the details that Sean seemed unwilling to provide. "We're pretty far north. Perhaps they're Greenland sharks. Maybe Makos—well, no, those are more of a summer shark…"

"They're White Death." He tugged at his knit cap. "Near got ate by one as a lad."

"Is that why you're so jumpy?" Stan suggested. At Sean's start, he shook his head. "You've been twitching like the cops are after you."

His response was an uncomfortable laugh. Perturbed, the twins exchanged a silent glance, saying nothing as they continued to follow their guide. None spoke for the duration of their trek through the woods.

By the time they reached the brush at the edge of the forest, to Ford's eyes, Sean had regained his composure (though Stan continued to eye the Scotsman with uncertainty). He stopped them before they could emerge onto the black sand beach.

"Now, Stanford, Stanley." His voice pitched lower than usual, conspiratorially quiet, not wanting to be overheard. "Ways over there—hear that chatter?" They did, but only barely. "Ways over there's a herd of selkie. Painfully shy, afraid of humans. Donnae go near them—donnae wanna startle them none. It's best to make yer notes from here, and when you've had yer fill, we can lookit the other creatures."

Ford's brow furrowed. He glanced to where the chattering originated, then to Stan, and frowned. At Stan's equally confused stare, he turned back to Sean. "I don't see anything."

Sean matched Ford's perturbed frown. He looked away momentarily, considering. "I guess we can get a bit closer…" His eyes scanned the beach, searching for a proper hiding spot. "Like I said, terrified of humans. Not necessarily best of hearing, but damn good eyes, like any other seal. Key is, donnae stay too close to their skins. They'll panic, y'know, might get hurt."

Unspeaking, Ford scribbled everything in his journal.

"There's…here, thisaway." He crept along the tree line, keeping himself hidden in the brush; Ford and Stan followed in his footsteps, slightly louder, but not noisy enough to earn comment. The place he led them had a far superior view of the beach: now, not only could the twins see a surprisingly large crowd of people cavorting near the water, but they could also make out a community of seals playing in the surf. When they settled into their lurking spot, a cloud of colorful pixies shot out from the bushes and fled into the forest.

Stan cursed quietly under his breath. He should have caught one for Mabel.

"What interesting behavior," Ford murmured, watching the water. "I didn't think seals were so comfortable around humans."

Sean hushed them, his pitch still low. "Donnae wanna frighten them." Once the twins acknowledged his suggestion, he continued. "All selkies, the lot of them. See, lookit there, folded up in the sand?" Truthfully, no, they couldn't quite tell what it was that he pointed to; if they squinted, though, they could see a mass of dark grey something against the similarly-colored sand. "Skins. When they wear them, they become seals—like you see there, in the water. Need ta be to get back here or to the underwater colony. Otherwise…"

Otherwise, they're stuck in human society. They yearn for the sea, often to the point of physical malady. Selkies cannot return without their skins, being unable to survive in the ocean as humans and incapable of reaching the underwater society. (Perhaps this underwater selkie society has some affiliation with other Atlantean myths?) Should someone steal a selkie's skin, said selkie will follow; most tales tell of the selkie marrying the human and living out their lives in somber complacency until it inevitably finds its skin and returns to the ocean.

Finfolk

A fascinating species, native only to the Orcadian islands. Sorcerous shapeshifters, they apparently raid human villages in the spring and summer months to kidnap husbands or wives, only to forever entrap the poor humans here on Hildaland (or in some underwater civilization like that of the selkie—I wonder if they started as the same story). These kidnapped humans are forced to live out their lives here and do various chores for the Finfolk. Not the worst fate that could befall a human, I suppose, but unpleasant nevertheless.

Ceasg

This subspecies of mer-person is half woman, half salmon. Said to grant three wishes to anyone who catches her. The ceasg just looks horrifically uncanny. ("They're the scariest thing in the ocean, Sixer, hands-down.")

Undine

These creatures can be found in numerous places where anomalies gather, and this island is no exception. There seems to be nothing striking about these water spirits, other than the fact that they enjoy rollicking in the waves instead of lurking in freshwater lakes or rivers. We weren't able to get close enough to discern their facial features, but Sean has assured us that they're quite pretty. He also claims that they're playful creatures, but far better friends than romantic partners.

Ford sat at his desk, finishing the rough sketches he'd begun on land, the single desk lamp providing all the light in the cabin. Darkness had settled in surprisingly quickly, but he wasn't at all tired from the day's hike; in fact, he felt quite energized, determined to complete the dozens of new journal entries. He worked silently as Stan and Sean, both exhausted from their trek, readied themselves for sleep.

Stan collapsed onto the bottom bunk, letting gravity control most of his descent so he landed with a hearty thump. Once comfortably settled, he grabbed his harmonica off of the desk (so convenient that it rested right behind his head); he played a few arbitrary notes, trying to decide on a song. At the foot of the bunk beds, as he had for the past few days, Sean sat with his back against the bannister, swaddled in his far-too-large sweatshirt. His eyes remained open, though distant. He responded to any of Ford's questions whenever prompted (though those were fewer and farther between when the scientist became engrossed in his journal); he'd jerk whenever Stan hit a sour note on the harmonica. For the moment, as Stan hummed out a soft tune and Ford fell into silence and Sean just listened, everything was zen on the Stan o' War II.

Only for the moment.

Stan huffed into the harmonica, the note particularly loud and shrill. At Sean's violent flail of surprise, he offered a conciliary smile. "Sorry, kid," he murmured apologetically. He made no such concessions to his frazzled brother, who had the look of a startled owl.

"Stanley, God, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Ford ran his hand through his hair, fluffing it in a way that resembled ruffled feathers.

Stan chose not to comment and instead placed the harmonica back on the table behind him. "What's the word, Sixer? What's the plan?"

Irritable, Ford readjusted his glasses. He shot his brother a glare before speaking. "Well, Stanley, I suppose we'll be exploring the island some more. I know there's no treasure to pique your interest—" Stan snorted a laugh "—but there are plenty of creatures I haven't yet been able to document, and I'd like to get a closer look."

"How big do you think this place is?"

"Based on today's venture…" Ford sat back in his chair, considering. "From the north shore to the Stan o' War II, we walked for perhaps forty-five minutes, an hour at most. Must have been about three miles around from the north side…assuming the island is regularly-shaped—"

"Don't know why you'd make that assumption." A wry smirk curled Stan's lip. "This is a strange anomaly, after all."

"True." Ford either missed his brother's jest or elected to ignore it. "I wouldn't imagine it to be more than a few square miles. We may be able to cover the rest of it tomorrow. With a cursory glance, of course; extended studies could be done for months, perhaps years."

"Yeesh, Sixer, we hired Sean for a week." Stretching, Stan twisted to better meet his brother's less than amused frown. "Besides, we have to be back in California for the kids' winter break."

Ford made an interested noise. "Has it really been that long?"

"I don't know how you want me to answer that."

"Don't get smart, Stanley, it doesn't suit you."

"Can it, Poindexter." Stan tossed himself into a more comfortable position, one that required much less torque to maintain. "Just make sure we don't forget to catch a pixie for Mabel."

"She wanted a fairy."

"You're the expert."

Ford shook his head. "Maybe not the expert, though an expert, certainly." His pointed look traveled to their suspiciously quiet Scotsman. "You've been a surprising wealth of knowledge, Sean. I'm impressed."

There was no response.

"Sean?"

Still nothing.

Raising his voice, Stan repeated, "Sean?"

Sean yelped, jumped, attempted to flail, got caught in his sweatshirt, lost his balance, and wound up in a heap on the floor, completely lost. His senses returned quickly; shortly thereafter, he managed to disentangle himself and sit up properly. A grogginess remained on his face. "Sorry, sleeping, didnae hear ya."

"If there was anyone in the world with worse hearing than me, it'd be you, kid," Stan told him, stifling a laugh. "Ford was just saying how helpful you've been."

"Eh? Er, I guess." He yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Thanks?"

"I mean—"

"You do sleep with your eyes open!" Ford practically leapt out of his seat, startling both Stan and Sean. "I knew it!"

Sean blinked stupidly at him. "Yea? Easier to spot predators 'r summat."

Ford's hand twitched for his pen.