“Terror and grief crashed at me like the waves: violent and sharp, gushing and ebbing, but, at length, revealing a softness beneath. There was hope there. There was longing.

It was too late for both of us.

The sea witch howled.

I felt ancient and infantile.

My warming skin welcomed me back.

I pulled my final leg through and I landed, again, on the sand.

My belly was heavy, and sore at its scars, but I kicked my mottled grey tail and flapped my flippers. The true scent of the ocean roared back.

I threw myself at the mercy of the sea foam.

*

I plummet to the jagged water,

Ending fourteen years I’d fought her,

I am not the Raven’s daughter,

I ‘claimed my skin from the witch.”