Isla
Above the reach of the tides on the northwest edge of Taransay, a secluded campsite awaits us who are drawn to wild beauty and solitude. Tucked into a green hollow on the hillside, it overlooked the white sands of Loch Togul, where waves curled to shore in pale, foaming ribbons. A weather-worn tent sat with its flap open to the sea, a quiet invitation to drift to sleep with the ocean’s pull. Until the rest of the team arrives, I will be alone here.
Around the tent, tufts of wild grasses sway in the coastal breeze, softening the line where sand meets rock and heath, adding a touch of natural elegance. Driftwood, bleached and smoothed by relentless waves, framed a simple cooking area—a small kettle, blackened from countless fires, rested on the rocks. Nearby, a ground cloth, held down by a line of stones, kept my tools and notes safe from the breeze, a reminder that this space is as wild as it is serene.
Low cliffs rise like a shield above, sheltering the camp from the wind. Heather and wild thyme cling to the stony soil, their scents drifting down, mingling with the sharp tang of salt and the freshness of the Atlantic. Here, the horizon is limitless, inviting possibilities to drift in with the tide, each rhythmic wave the only company in this hauntingly quiet place.
I knelt in the soft, damp earth, brushing aside some wiry beach grass to get a better look at a small patch of white bluebells pushing up through the soil. White bluebells—rare as they are strange—are rarely found in Scotland. Yet here they were, delicate and defiant, blooming on this wild edge of Taransay. My notebook lay open on my lap, filled with sketches and notes from the past few days. Each sketch captured something new I’d found here. Every fragile sapling, every unexpected bloom was a small victory, a sign that the island was beginning to remember itself.
It felt deeply satisfying, the work of bringing Taransay back to what it once was, wild and vibrant with native plants meant to thrive here. I ran my fingers over the pale, tender petals, a promise that the island would carry on this beauty long after we’d gone.
But my focus slipped again as I gazed out across the shore, watching the endless expanse of water. I’d thought of little else since last night. My heart pounded quicker as I remembered the moment—the feel of the frigid water against my bare skin, the thrill of diving headlong into that untamed space. And then… there he was, the bull seal, that enormous dark shape cutting through the waves, circling me in the silver-blue of twilight.
I’d been startled but not frightened. There should’ve been a touch of wariness, maybe, an instinctive urge to keep my distance from something so powerful and unpredictable. Yet his presence, as large and wild as it was, felt safe somehow. His eyes had locked onto mine, and instead of feeling like prey, I felt... seen. His steady gaze held a kind of intelligence, a challenge, that left me buzzing with strange warmth long after I returned to the shore.
Sighing, I looked down at the sprouting buds of another seedling in my hand, setting the rootball carefully into the sandy soil and tamping it down. In just a few days, the rest of my team would be here with supplies and reinforcements to get the project underway in earnest. I’d been working solo for nearly a week, and though I’d loved the solitude, a part of me was beginning to look forward to their arrival. Even Gareth.
He’d slipped into my thoughts a few times, and I couldn’t help wondering if there was a chance for something more. He was undeniably handsome, the kind of outdoorsy, charming type that got most of the women on our team talking. I’d been no exception.
But lately, those thoughts had cooled. I couldn’t say why exactly, but what had felt like intrigue and excitement back in Aberdeen now felt more like a passing fancy. Perhaps a little thrill was all I’d wanted, and being here, lost in work and solitude, had shown me that Gareth might be better as a fantasy. Still…
There was something about last night’s encounter that had left me feeling unexpectedly alive, a pulse beneath my skin that lingered as I worked alone on the island. Would it be so wrong to pursue a brief distraction when he arrived? A shared laugh, an embrace, the kind that felt good in the moment, something simple to shake off this strange, lingering sensation from last night.
Sighing, I shook off the feeling that had haunted me through the night, alone in my sleeping bag. What I really wanted was a man’s strong hips between my legs, my ankles crossed above his back as he pounded into me. A shiver ran through me.
No, it was just the chill of the wind off the shore.
I was letting my fantasies run away with me.
I gathered a handful of seeds from the small pouch at my side, sprinkling them into the soil, taking care to space them out. Each movement had a meditative rhythm, one that should’ve drawn my mind to the task, but my gaze drifted again, out over the water beyond the cliff’s edge. I could almost see him there, the bull seal, drifting in the swell of waves, half-submerged and watching. The image sent a pulse of warmth through me, and I shook my head with a self-conscious laugh, returning my attention to my seedlings. What was I thinking?
If that seal had been a man…
A smile tugged at my lips as I remembered Gareth’s teasing back in the Aberdeen pub. He’d been the one who joked about the women on the team finding selkie lovers while out here alone on Taransay. He paid a folk duo to sing Òran an Ròin, the Song of the Seal, on my last night on the mainland. At the time, it had all seemed like a quaint, sentimental ballad, something from the hazy world of myth.
But here… in this vast, wild stretch of the Hebrides, it felt different. The academic world I came from back in the States was miles away, steeped in logic and reason, every theory airtight, every answer pinned down. And yet, under this enormous sky with only the sea’s sighs for company, I was ready—no, I was eager—to believe that selkies could be real.
The team would arrive soon, and the days ahead would be packed with restoration work, keeping me too busy for thoughts of moonlit encounters, seal or otherwise. And as for Gareth… maybe I’d let things unfold without expecting too much. But even now, the memory of that dark, silent shape gliding beside me in the water lingered, impossible to dismiss.
Finn
From behind the veil of low sea grass, I watched her. This woman was different, somehow—yet still a whisper of something familiar, something I’d long tried to forget. She stood with worn boots planted in the sand, mud-streaked, arms bare to the sun as she knelt over her little seedlings. They were pale and fragile, like this island, like all that my kind nurtured here long before men and their boats had trampled it.
Years had passed since I last felt the pull of a human. I’d let myself believe in Moira’s laughter, in the strange heat she brought out in me. I believed the lie that we could share more than just a fleeting moment in the water. But she’d wanted what all humans do—promises, oaths, a life of roots and plans. And I couldn’t give it. When she’d discovered my sealskin, she’d tried to keep it from me, to force my choice.
That kind of betrayal lingers. I’d left that life, vowing never to walk in human form again. I hid my skin in coves and caves far from mankind whenever the urge to change grew too strong. But now… this woman, this American, stirred memories I thought were buried.
She wiped her brow and pulled her shirt over her head. She let it fall to the sand beside her, baring that pale skin to the breeze. My pulse picked up as I watched her turn. Her pink lace bra caught the sun, dark nipples shadowed by the fabric, the curve of her shoulders, and the lines of her collarbone etched in light. She looked like she belonged here, somehow—like one of the wildflowers she’d come to plant, with earth on her hands and saltwater just beyond her reach.
She was focused, humming as she worked, caught up in her careful ritual of replanting each young sprout. Her hands moved deftly, yet gently, as if each plant were a precious thing. I’d never seen one of her kind who seemed to understand the quiet, unspoken pull of this place. Still, my own oaths remained strong—I would not seek her out, would not let her see me, not let her in.
And yet, I couldn’t stay far from her side.