Fire rose high into the sky, burning through the darkness with a warmth that drew him in.  He had been here before – long ago, when the moon was high in the summer sky and raucous voices rose to the air in song and cheer.  The market seemed strangely different now – tamer, more foreign.  Or perhaps it is the boy who had changed.  Though he still very much appeared the child he truly was, Pan had grown a bit more solemn and a bit wiser, as time had stolen him away once more.  He seems uncharacteristically unsure of himself, as he steps closer to the rising bonfire, shivering to stave away the nip of cold which crawled over him as the sickle moon continued to shine brightly into the night.

There is laughter around him, but the boy is strangely quiet – seemingly immune to the dizzying effects of light and sound.  Blue and gold banners whip in the wind and he watches from a distance, unsure if he should join in the festivities even as he turns to make his way toward the merchant stalls.

“Step this way!” a voice cries out.  “Beads and shawls!”  Another.  His grass-green eyes are hungry – seeking something or someone familiar but finding no one.  Against his side, Oliver shivers and chirps indignantly in his satchel, before slithering out and resting comfortably like a wrap against his master’s nape.  Stay close… the boy whispers, even as the otter seems to nod in agreement, perching higher on Pan’s neck to take a higher vantage point.

The scaled boy walks on, ducking at last into the colorful flaps of purple silk, following the scent of something sweet and something salty.  It is the salt the draws him first – the scent of the sea.  Home.  The water would always remind him of home.

As his vision adjusts to the dimly lit shop, the boy blinks at colorful lanterns as they flicker with light.  He marvels at bolts filled with colored silks, and his mouth begins to water at the scent of pastries warm from the oven.  But it is the Kelpie who captures his attention more than all the rest, as he steps toward her with his more-usual unabashed demeanor, reaching with his teacup muzzle to lip at the shells in her mane.

You’re far from the sea.  His voice is a whisper, hushed with appreciation as he offers the girl a tender smile.  Are you lost, like me?

The boy is not afraid – he is never afraid, even if he ought to be.  Where her eyes feast with hunger, he finds them only bright with wonder.  In this place of festival celebration, who wouldn’t wonder?  Giddy with the mood of the night, the boy’s cheeks are flush and warm with excitement.  Oliver rests lazily across his shoulders like a cloak, pawing at beads and baubles which drape from the ceiling, but not in an overly-excited manner.  Instead, it seems that Pan’s furry companion has worn himself out from the sensory overload, and he merely chirps at Sereia, barely blinking twice her way.

I love the sea, he whispers with appreciation in his tone.  In another life, the boy had been a water elemental, manipulating water into playful shapes and spirited fountains.  He’d been able to breathe underwater, diving to the depths of the sea and swimming among the fishes.  Oh, what a marvelous sort of place the ocean was.  In another life, he’d have liked to be a dolphin – or maybe a bird soaring high in the sky… he couldn’t decide.  All of the world around him held such wonder, so Pan was never bored in his daydreaming.

He notices the way she looks over the silks, and offers a helpful suggestion.  Go with the gold, it matches your eyes.  He grins and drapes it against her neck, liking the jingle of her shells as the scarf lays against them.  When she compliments his satchel, he grins and turns to show it off more.  It isn’t much – a faded leather thing he’d found discarded in his travels.  The skin was well-worn and sun-cracked now, but it swelled with treasures inside, jingling as he walked.   He fished into the depths of it, clattering about before pulling out a spiny Venus comb murex and offering it to the kelpie.

Deftly, he weaves it into her mane with the others, seemingly unaware of etiquette as he smiles at the way it looks, nestled in her sea-tossed locks.  I’m Pan by the way, and this is Oliver.  The boy is kind and his eyes are warm as he watches his companion, beautiful and delicate, if not a bit thin.  He wonders where she came from, for she seems starkly out of place.  Curious to know more, he asks with childlike innocence.  Tell me about your sea… I’m sure it is a wonderous place.

The boy longs – oh how he longs – to race along the shore once more.  For too long, he’d been lost to the magic of the forbidden island.  At first, it had given him wonderous opportunities to explore… but now, he wished for something more familiar.  The sea would give him that – for as lost as Pan could be, on the seashore he could always find peace for his vagabond heart.  It was time to give the drifter his rest – it was time for the boy find his way home once more.