Ronin was so tuned to the presence of a woman’s tears that he could swear he heard them fall. While hearing a tear hit the surf on the other side of the ocean was a stretch, there could be no mistaking the scent or the taste. Each woman’s tears were unique. These tasted of secrets and sorrow. Ronin held each on his tongue, decoding subtle clues and catching one after another. Seven tears cast upon the water summon the selkie. Liquid key that broke the curse for one night. Sunset to dawn. Ronin had twelve hours exactly on this night of Mabon, the autumnal equinox. Obsidian black with foaming mane and tail, his liquid steed bucked and galloped across the Atlantic in the time it took a cloud to glide across the face of the rising moon. At the edge of Wolf Harbor, his ride dissolved into thrashing breakers along the jetty. Seven tears summoned the beast across the ocean, carried the selkie to his intended on enchanted waters. Seven tears summoned man from beast. The scent and taste of her—cool and crisp as new snow—washed through him, renewing his withered spirit.
