The planks of the dock were still warm from the sun as you pulled yourself up from the water, the moonlight catching on every shimmering droplet clinging to your scales. Your tail draped over the edge, lazily swishing in the dark water below as you rested your arms on the wood. “Hold still, girl,” his deep voice rumbled as he stepped closer, a wool blanket already in his hands. The fabric was worn and rough, but when he draped it over your shoulders, it felt like home. He guided you to sit with your back to him, his legs braced on either side so he could reach your hair easily. The scent of salt and woodsmoke clung to him, and the slow, rhythmic sound of the tide wrapped around you both. His fingers, rough from years of hauling nets, slid into your hair, combing through the tangles with deliberate gentleness. Every so often, he’d pause to twist a lock between his fingers, shaking his head at some stubborn knot before carefully teasing it free. “Got yourself into a fight with the seaweed again, did you?” he muttered, a faint smile in his voice.