Aningan was newly returned home when he heard her calling for him. Weary still but eager to great her, he followed the sound of her voice and greeted Ying with a wag of his tail. “Ying,” he said with a smile, making his way towards her. “What do you need?” With wounds unable to be seen, he had no idea about her soreness. Instead, he assumed she might be interested in another lesson—or maybe even another game! Either way, he was glad to answer her calling.

When she answered that all she wanted was a friend, he was, surprisingly, not disappointed; although he was always excited to partake in activities with her, simply spending time together seemed just as satisfying. As she brushed her shoulder against his own, he wagged his tail and said, “Nothing right now.” Should he tell her about his trip? There wouldn’t be any harm in doing so—although, he didn’t go too far in-depth with his answer. “I just got back from a short trip. I thought I should see what else is out there,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. He saw no reason to say anything else about it, not until he managed to wrap his own head fully around it all.

“What about you?” he asked, redirecting the attention towards her. “What are you up to?” And whatever it was, could he join in, he wondered.

So, he was not alone in his taking of a trip! He smiled when she answered, then asked, “How was it?” He wondered frequently about the coast, about the sea; part of him wished to return but a larger part of him feared to do so. What if the sea grew angry again? He couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone else, nor could he bring himself to challenge the wrath of the ocean. “I went south, through the flatland,” he told her. “It all kind of looks the same, though. It wasn’t that exciting.” Anxiety-filled, though? Definitely.

When she turned away, Aningan cocked his head to the side, curious—and then his excitement grew and his posture righted. “Sure!” he answered, tail already wagging. “What word first?” There were so many to share, after all. He always struggled to pick just one.

The question was a hard one to answer. His heart longed for the coast, for the memories made there, but he couldn’t shake his fears away. He didn’t want to lose anyone else and wasn’t sure if he could trust the sea not to try and take them from him. “I do,” he answered, careful. “But… I don’t know if I can. The sea… I don’t want it to hurt anyone else.” He just wanted to make sure everyone stayed safe.

But the sea could not be avoided, not for long—and not in the conversation, either, as she wished to know the word for it. “Imappik,” he answered. “Ee-mahp-peek. Sea.” It was one of the easier words to say, he felt. “How do you say it in your language?” Would it be just as easy?

As she repeated the word back, he grinned. “You speak my language well,” he told her. “Almost like we came from the same place.” And he hoped that, someday, they could converse freely in his mother tongue as if she truly was of the north. But his thoughts were brought to a halt by her comment that followed, making him feel conflicted. Although she visited the sea recently, he still felt uncertain—would it remain safe, was the question. “Maybe we can visit the sea sometime soon…” he suggested; he wanted to see the state of the coast for himself.

Thankfully, her language was just as simple as his own, if not more so. “Hi,” he repeated back, liking sea better than previously learned words. “Sitjak is beach or shore,” he told her, though he could not think of a word for coast. “Seet-yahk. Do you like the sitjak more than here?”

As she turned away, he took a step towards her, concerned. Was she alright? He thought to ask but was stopped by the sound of her voice—and worry turned to relief. She would join him on his trip, whenever it may be. “Maybe we can go in a few days?” he offered. “So we can both rest before leaving again.” After all, they both only just recently returned.

When she refused to look back up at him, his smile faltered. She preferred the shore—which, although not surprising, still wasn’t what he found himself wanting to hear. Troubled by her answer and his own thoughts, he didn’t even try to repeat her word back. Instead, he asked, “Why do you like the beach more?” Why wasn’t the plateau good enough?

The beach was preferred because of her sisters. Aningan could understand being tied to family, wanting to protect them—wasn’t that what he was doing? She liked the plateau—her saying that lifted his spirits a bit but he still felt bothered. “If they wanted to leave, would you leave, too?” he asked—but he wasn’t so sure he actually wanted to know the answer. What was he supposed to say, if she did? Was there even anything he could say?

The speed at which she answered only increased his growing discomfort. “But why do you have to stay together?” he asked, frowning. His own siblings left him, so why couldn’t she leave hers? “Then they can go to the beach and you can stay here.” Siblings didn’t have to stay together forever—that was one thing he learned in life, albeit harshly.

“I can’t go back to the coast,” he said. “I don’t think anyone else would want to go back, either. The coast… the sea hurt us.” And even though many of those lost returned to them, they were still not what they once were. Even to visit, like he wished to do, felt like he was betraying his pack—siding with the enemy, so to speak.

“I like you, too,” he told her. “You’re a good friend. I don’t want the sea to take you, too.” Even if she said she would come back, would she really?

Ying remained to protect them. But protect them from what? “Who wants to hurt you?” he asked, more concerned than curious now. “What if we get rid of the one trying to hurt you, then they won’t need protected.” Was Aningan even capable of doing something like that? He never did before—but he also never had to.

“The ocean got very angry,” he explained when asked. “It attacked the coast and wanted to drown us. Our home was pulled underwater. We had to leave it.” Back then, there were only two options: stay and die or leave and live. Rusalka needed to leave the shore behind them so that they would not perish with the sound.

But those dismal thoughts weren’t allowed to linger for very long, chased away by her scowl—and then eliminated by her words. “Not a friend?” If not a friend, then what? “What’s more than a friend?” Did she mean like family? “Just stay here,” he said. “If you stay, then you won’t have to come back because you’ll already be here. We can get rid of anyone that tries to hurt your sisters.” He could fight. He could keep them safe.

When she didn’t say anything else, he frowned. Why wasn’t she talking? And then she turned to walk away and he felt a sudden pain shoot through him. “Ying,” he said, taking a step after her. “Ying, where are you going?” Why was she just walking away? “Did I say something wrong?” Something told him to stop, that he would only make things worse—but Aningan ignored the feeling and continued after her, following.

“Please talk to me,” he urged. If he left things as they were, would she be mad at him?

Even with Huā’s arrival, his gaze remained trained on Ying. His ears fell flat against his head as she continued, words harsh. His body stiffened beneath her gaze, not sure at this point how he should react; he didn’t understand where her anger came from. “But I want to protect you,” he tried to tell her, to explain himself. “I know you protect yourself but… don’t you get tired?” Why was he wrong for wanting to help her?

“I do want you,” he insisted, flustered. “I want you to stay, and your sisters, too. But your sisters… you said before they weren’t happy here.” He didn’t want to force them to stay when they preferred the sea—but if Ying didn’t mind staying away from the sea, then why couldn’t he ask her to stay inland? His posture drooped when she turned away again to face her sister, ears pinned back and a frown permanently engraved into his maw. What did he do wrong?