There was a steady trotting of boots as Finley moved about the kitchen, pausing every so often to turn to his wife, open his mouth, and go back to moving.

"You should have expected this. There is only so much we can teach him, and staying here isn't helping him. It's what's best." The woman, a sturdy woman of violent-white hair, continued about her work. Ripping fish heads one by one from their bodies with her slender hands and chucking the bodies in a large bowl to her side and the decapitated heads in a jar. Her hands were greasy with the pungent smell of oil as they reached into the basket in her lap, pulling out another wiggling fish.

"I just don't like it, that's all. Really, must we, Ailsa?" A heavy sigh escaped the man's fair lips, making his handsome features turn in a childish pout to which he displayed to his wife. She didn't look up, not paying him the attention he wanted, and continued pulling part the scaly snacks in her grip, whipping off the oil on her already stained apron. An eyeball popped from a rather stubborn trout, falling off her apron and to the water-soaked floorboards below. Ailsa lifted up her skirts, showing off a white ankle that caused her husband to drop his pout and turn his head for a better look, "If he stays here, you'll only be hurting him! Blast, where did it go? Finley, look for it." She set her basket aside as she set about looking for the escaped optical.

"It wasn't that big of a deal. He's just …spirited. Colts WILL be colts?" he said, stepping to the window to look out into the front yard. He could only make out the back of his son, his long, messy hair obscuring most of face as he sat on the bank of the river. He seemed occupied with trying to keep a monstrous toad in his hands. Moping no doubt.

"Oh, don't give me that! That excuse has long since been worn out." Having given on standing, Finley's wife dropped to her hands and knees a set about looking for the irksome eye. Her long hair draped over her shoulder in curls, a permanent look of water-curled waves. In the rippling green light shining up from the floorboards, he took in her rustic beauty. Her strong, handsome chin and slender, sharp nose to the puckered red of her lips – he was half tempted to say that their son got his wild spirit (years of marriage gave him the foresight to not be so stupid unless he wanted to be kicked).

Kneeling down, he half-heartedly looked around for the fish eye, glancing here and there more for show and, worried about his hair, reached into his pocket for a strip of plaid cotton to tie it up into a ponytail. Then, thinking this too plain, set about braiding it. "I only worry about the other children. Being away. Calder is such a sensitive boy."

"He's doing no good staying out all alone? Do you want him to get mixed up in those fauns? What with their hippie music, and those floozy nymphettes they hang with!" Sitting up, Ailsa proudly held a eyeball in her hand, looking at her husband and kneeling down to pluck the little eyeball by its' tendril around the plaid cloth of his braid as a nice ornament. "Dear. Calder needs friends, and he's going to find much better ones in school. Your only hurting him by keeping him here. I was nice enough to let it go for this long, but this is not something we can provide. He needs children his own age. It will make him happier, and it will help him in the long run with all that unbridled energy of his. He can't go about shoving everyone into the river whenever he feels. He'll grow up with a serious problem that way, and how is he suppose to get a good job and a nice little filly of his own?"

"Oh stop! Don’t go that far. He's still a boy. I don’t want to hear about marriage. Stop." Finley covered his ears, shoving out all thoughts his lovely son would run off to have his own family. Rising up, he sat on the kitchen table, the wood groaning from even the kelpie's light frame. "If we must."

Ailsa picked up the bowl she used to carry the fish and handed it to her husband. "We must. Do not worry. We did enjoy our school years after all. This will be very good for him, and he'll get the guidance and control he needs." Finley smiled at the memory. Young, bouncy, and playful, he had the entire school around his finger. Boys and girls pawed at him in each classroom and he spent his days in a joyful blur of flirting and indulgent play. Well, there was studying in there too, but he blocked that part out – along with those DREADFUL teachers. The kelpie, even years later, shivered at the thought.
"But what if he doesn't learn to control his urges?" The idea of a teenager was one thing, but a fully grown man was something entirely. His behavior would be inexcusable. Dangerous, even by their standards. There was an ART to what they did. Guidelines, spiriting, a form of eloquent etiquette that was understood and a source of pride. The worried look made him feel just as troubled in return.

"If he doesn't learn, then he'll have to hand over his bridle for someone else to control him. It's simply the only solution. The school will have plenty of eligible candidates for this, and Calder can choose, if they are willing, who it will be –NO matter what we think of that person." She pointed to her husband as he was about to speak. The idea was a heavy one indeed. For a kelpie to hand over his bridle was to give control, and they valued their freedom.

Setting the bowl down, Finley moved to the heavy, wooden door, shoving it open before kicking some of the moss away. "Calder! Come here a moment. We need to talk to you." Talk. Every child's nightmare.

The toad in his hand leapt away and splashed in the water, having been dunked over and over again for the past 20 minutes by the persistent kelpie who had been making all attempts to drown it – a pastime to occupy his mind from the fact his parents were deliberating about his punishment. Pulling himself out from the water, he slowly made his way over. The man at the doorway, nicely framed by the opening mouth of the house, was both frightening and beautiful in the green light reflecting off of the river just a few feet from the walkway. While others might have swooned in his presence, Calder was familiar enough to see past the looks and tell he was in trouble. Ears back and head low, he slinked into the living room, moving into the kitchen and watching his mother pulling off her apron. The fish that was to be served tonight had been separated for a smaller meal – the guest having left earlier than expected.

"Am I in trouble?" He asked, noticing his mother gesture to the now cleared chair and slowly easing into it.

His parents arranged themselves in front of him, his mother liking her fingers while his father pursed his lips, looking at his hair. In comparisions, he could probably be seen as their children IF he cleaned up a bit. Under the curled mass of sticks and leaves, he had the strong, sharp eyes of his mother, the hard jawline, and slender, waving curves. If he bothered to comb his hair and IF it ever did change black (fingers crossed), he would have had his father's glossy mane, the soft skin, and playful lips. All assets that were best used by his kind, the luring factor they were infamous for, were hidden under tangles, torn clothes, and a large scarf that was now dripping onto the floor.

"We didn't say that." Ailsa pointed, watching her husband reach out for one of his combs and move over to his son. Preening, he started to comb, picking out little sticks and leaves as his son sank a little in his seat.

"Your mother and I have been talking for some time, and we have some important news to tell you." Finley untangled another twig from his sons hair, shaking his head. If his son would just let it be it wouldn't get so messy. Boys. He shook his head.

Kneeling down, she looked at her son, who was diverting his gave to avoid eye contact. Calder had found a slug under the armrest of the chair and was petting it with his finger. The steady rolling of the waterwheel against their house droned in the background. "Come this semester, were going to enroll you in school."

She smiled, trying to work the idea that she was excited for him, as if this was his decision and something he had been begging for for ages. He hadn't, and looked startled in his seat. "School? You're sending me away?! But – But I barely shoved her – well, not hard! Why are you doing this? You said I wasn't in trouble!"

"Calder! Calder! You're not in trouble. This doesn't involve your aunt. Aunt Isla is very old and has broken her hip once before. She'll …forgive you in time, and pay no mind to what she said. She tends to …talk a lot." Finley and Ailsa hid their glances to each other, knowing that this was partly the reason for their decision. "We just think that it would be best for you to go to school and learn some new things about being a better kelpie and to meet some kids your own age. We think that you'll learn more about how to…handle your urges in a more ..managed environment than at home." She set her hand on her knee, looking up to her son with her large, moss-green eyes. The dark blacks of her pupils were haunting, but he found it hard to look away.

"We went to school when we were younger and we enjoyed ourselves immensely." His father took a large section of his hair and started to comb,, brushing away little water beetles that dropped to the floor. Despite the wildlife, the comb slid through his fine hairs with ease. Liquid smooth.

"…but what about you two? Why now?" He felt something was up. It had to be up. They were shipping him off for shoving Isla into the water wheel.

"We'll be fine." Ailsa said, to both Calder and her husband, who was frowning as he combed. "You're growing up into a young man, Calder, and we know you need to get out and find some friends of your own. I know it's hard on you to live out where there aren't any other kelpies or someone your own age. Going to school will give you lots of new experiences and you'll leave knowing a lot more about yourself, how to handle your urges, and with lots of friends that you'll have for life." Again, the parents shared a quick glance. They hoped he made friends. They both knew their son wasn't very socialized, and both inwardly judged themselves on that part.

"We'll get you ready and packed up, and I'll send word to the school for your enrollment." She could only hope he got accepted. They weren't exactly a noble demon family, but they were at least somewhat knowable in a few circles. She patted her son's knee, ushering him out of the kitchen. "It's okay, darling. You'll find out that the second you get there, you won't ever want to leave. Trust me." She nuzzled against his cheek and gestured for him to go. Just as he made his way out the kitchen door, she remembered.

"Calder, dearest? You're going to apologize to Aunt Isla and spend the next two weeks weeding her lawn."

"WHAT?!" he spun back around.

"You shoved her into the wheel. Don't give me that look. You better be glad I'm not ripping out your own hip to replace the one you broke. Now go bring Fester inside. It's almost time for dinner."

Muttering, her son walked off, and she turned to her husband who was looking at the chair. When he looked up, he clutched the comb. "My baby's leaving me!"

Well, she at least still had one child to take care of when her son left.