By now, after a year of giving Hæra lessons on human life, Jonathan could speak of it more casually. Still, there was curiosity in his voice when he continued. “You don’t feel the cold, you can’t abide fresh water, and there’s the way you…whenever you come inland…you know.”

She could do without the reminder of what happened when she came inland, which was about once every four nights. Hæra frowned as she approached the rickety kitchen table, which seemed nearly as old as the rickety cottage it graced.

Jonathan didn’t live in the village, where rents were higher, but on the edge of town, looking out onto a stretch of land Hæra found desolate. Its biggest advantage was that you couldn’t see the sea from any point. As long as Hæra was careful, once she was across the beach coming here and going back, she wouldn’t be spotted by the Each-uisge.

If she were, that would be bad. These days, she thought more and more of the punishments Alban had told her about: a beating, shunning, even banishment. This trespass was severe enough that she might be exiled from the herd for good, and she likely wouldn’t last long in the hostile ocean alone.

So she was cautious, reaching Jonathan’s home as swiftly as she could and departing the same way. His house was a one-bedroom stone cottage with small windows and a sooty fireplace that was more reliable than the heater—and the fire was always going, including on a cool summer night like tonight. Hæra, who hated fire, had asked him to put it out, but he said that was bad luck and he got cold besides.

She adjusted her trousers as she sat. When she’d started coming ashore for her education, Jonathan had brought her women’s clothing: a loose, ugly dress that was “the only thing tall enough for you.” She had told him to find nicer things that would allow for more freedom of movement. After all, she was paying for it.

Now, she wore long trousers that were traditionally men’s garments, and shirts with buttons that had taken a while to learn; she liked to roll the sleeves up to her elbows so the cloth stayed out of her way. She preferred boots to regular shoes, since they kept the mud off. And she kept her long, black hair pulled back in what he called a “ponytail”—a demeaning term, but it was more practical. Jonathan said it altogether made her look “bonnie, but not in the usual way.”

“Here you are.” Jonathan set before her a cup of cold tea. Hæra liked tea, especially when it was strongly flavored. She accepted the cup and sprinkled salt into it while Jonathan added a splash of cream to his own.

She remembered what to say. “Cheers.”