rescue

previous part: https://jordynsaelor.com/2026/03/05/or-to-the-shore-line/

all parts: https://jordynsaelor.com/cant-catch-me-now/

***

The fire

and smoke

summoned flying shadows

blotting out the sun

and they brought

silent rain

upon the flames.

I just

treaded water, close enough to land

I could touch down if I got tired

but far enough out that the shocking heat from the trees

didn’t scorch my face

and I could keep

moving under the cold water

to keep the rest of me warm.

So I waited

between icy liquid

and radiating air

while the flying shadows

tried to stop the fire

but all that green

burned

like old logs,

not new ones.

So I waited.

And the shadows started diving

for the middle of the lake

revealing themselves

not to be shadows

but huge-beaked things

with feathers on their wings

and scales on their legs

scooping water

with claws and mouths

to pour onto the fires.

None of them noticed me

except for one, small-by-comparison,

who spat out a mouthful of water

and soared over to me

screaming, “Naiad!

Give us your aid!”

Well.

I wasn’t a naiad

nor did I know what that was

except

a bit of my brain

informed me what that was

and also

translated what this creature was saying in its language

into words

I could understand,

so the response that popped out of my mouth

didn’t help my case

for not being a water fairy creature thing:

“Why did the rain deity give me an ability to understand languages?”

The creature

then plowed through the water,

splashing waves,

but stopping before crushing me

then almost sank

before rapidly paddling with its trio of legs.

“Naiad,” it said, beak clacking, “dump the lake on the fire and save the garden!”

“I’m not a naiad!” I said. “I’m…I’m a mortal.”

“Haha, trickster.” Then it put a claw on my head, still frantically paddling with the other two legs.

“Do it.”

I stared. “What?”

This made it pause. “You’re compelled to do what I say when my claw touches you. Dump the lake on the fire.”

“I can’t.” I pushed the claw away. “I’m not a naiad.”

It put the claw on my head again. “Say that again.”

“Look, I’m literally just a mortal. What are you supposed to be?”

“Well, be that way then,” it said, and scooped a bunch of water in its beak

and took off in a flurry of feathers.

I wiped

my sopping face

and stared after its

fluffy tail,

joining the other shadows

pouring rain sprinkles

on the climbing flames,

confused

but mostly annoyed

it hadn’t answered my question.

Then I treaded water

thinking

I really needed a better name

than “mortal,”

since that’s what Mrflfip called me

and the blankets

and the rats

and Coach Purturbelly,

and none of those peeps

really stood up for me.

But everyone in my hometown

just called each other

people, and I couldn’t call myself that,

that was too vague.

And the mountain rain

seemed to say my ancestors

lived underwater

so I could call myself

what they used to call themselves

except that a witch brought us to land

and changed our memories

so I didn’t know what we called ourselves before then,

or if I’d even like

what we’d called themselves.

So there

in the lake

I decided to call myself

an adventurer,

not a “people,”

not an “underwater creature changed by a witch,”

and certainly not “the mortal.”

***

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