The crackling of fire transmuted into a hiss of dying embers with the toss of a bucket of water. The ears flicking out of the water, way back in the reeds, didn’t miss the sound. The merry band was winding down for the night, most of their whiskey drunk.

As their chuckles faded and snores grew the ears moved closer, rippling the deep reflected starry night. A head slowly emerged from the water, nostrils snorting steam. An older force than these sleepers knew raised her muzzle from the water. Hair streamed down her green black mane. Her hooves were silent on the sandy banks as she pick her way through their little camp. Their own horses whinnied in fright or snorted territorially. The quieted under her steady emerald gaze. They knew the Kelpie, knew this had been her domain since before the tallest oak in this forest was a sapling and that her name if she still had one was an ancient thing, not spoken in years.

Three horses but four sleeping figures. The Kelpie turned to examine the specimens that had happened upon her shore. Three men and a woman. The woman had a mop of brown curls and a bow lay within her reach. Her hand extended toward it as if she knew danger was near and already reached for it. She was curled up herself in the strong arms of a man who could have been a brick layer, a circus strong man or some more dark profession that required a strong hand. The Kelpie would not mettle with a man protected by so fierce a woman. A round man, in every sense of the word, lay at the other side of the dying fire pit, cradling a near empty bottle of ale. Not her taste and mayhap too heavy. But the last…hadn’t there been a fourth?

The clinking of a bridle sounded his position and she turned her head slowly. Ah, there he was. Young and slender with yellow hair down to his shoulders. One of the mares whinnied again.

“Peace, Rosemary,” the young man said. “We have a new friend here.” He spoke in a gentle velvet voice and clicked his tongue reassuringly.

“She’s trying to warn you,” the Kelpie said. He froze then but that was the only indication he gave that anything was out of place. Surely time and experience had taught him how to keep a straight face and accept the unusual and unexpected.

“From what?” He smiled as though they were old friends. She turned and walked toward him.

“Do you care for these horses?”

“I do,” he stated it, very matter of factly. The blue eyed mare snorted and tugged at her lead.

“You care for them well. She is most protective of you. Is she…’yours’?” It had been a long time since the Kelpie was so bemused.

“No,” he said. “None of them are ‘mine’.”

“Do you know how to ride?” She considered the bridle in his hands.

“Why don’t you come find out?” His smile was daring but it teased her imagination knowing what he didn’t know. She took a few more steps closer and lifted her head imperiously.

“Do you wish to ride?”

He lifted the bridle as if to put it on her.

“You do not need that,” she turned her head with a disgusted sniff. “It would not hold but I have no wish to pretend with you.”

He considered a moment and then despite the cream mare’s warning of stomping hooves. He threw away the bridle. The Kelpie smiled and turned so that he could mount. He alighted with a grace she hadn’t quite expected and grabbed a handful of her mane. The mare whinnied plaintively. The Kelpie looked up at the man knowingly, daring. He looked daringly back and kicked her with his heels. She let out a triumphant neigh as she charged toward the bank and dived into the water where the pseudo sky of stars swallowed them whole.