The Water Goblin

It wasn't that Amalthus forbade contact with the humans outright; rather, he didn't bother to encourage it. The sign language of the merfolk, beyond its incorporation of full-body movements, bore little semantic similarity to sailors' shouts or their journals' script, freshly thrown overboard and not yet waterlogged.

Not being able to see the sailors clearly nor hear their shouts properly regardless of sightline, the merfolk also had no concensus on the most-often-heard shouts of "Ahoy!" and "Merman off the starboard bow!" Too rowdy by half, humans were.

Their symbiosis was silent, accidental: peaceful waters in exchange for a spectacle on both sides.

Above the surface? Mere frivolity. Minoth did find the humans nominally interesting, but with no way to communicate about what they did and didn't share, well?

But then there came rumors (not whispers, you see) that Amalthus had devised a ritual by which to enable a merman to speak above water. A perfectly reasonable thing to desire, but something about it, to Minoth, smelled a little...you know.

What was the cost? There always had to be a cost.

He was contemplating just this quandary when a weight, dulled somewhat by passage through several meters of depth, struck his back. Instinctively, Minoth flicked his tail to propel him in the opposite direction and repel the offending creature.

But beyond the merman's own motions, the water stilled.

Just as Minoth was about to reorient himself for investigation, he heard the series of clicks that signaled Baltrich swimming his way.

"Minoth," Baltrich started in clicks before switching to sign, "the sailors have lost a man. Amalthus has ordered everyone back to the grotto."

Minoth jerked his jumping forefins down: neutral tone.

"Tell him you can't find me. Please."

Baltrich weighed this - a favor for Minoth that would, ultimately, reflect just as badly on them both? He'd almost gotten the lone shark to grovel...by loitering; putting his own tail on the line.

Aquatic decency's wellspring eventually won, and Minoth was left alone to rescue the bleeding body from the crevasse into which it had drifted.

Well, the catch: indeed, Amalthus didn't let them around drowned sailors. They could cavort with the live ones all they liked, and take the associated risks.

So Minoth had never seen a human this close. Certainly, he'd never cradled one, limp to the point of comatose, to his chest, and begun the somber task of returning him to the surface.

A red ribbon wrapped a lock of hair on one side of the human's face. Knowing that sailors had learned not to begrudge their losses to the sea, Minoth slid the ribbon off, deposited the human atop a bed of coral just below the surface, and returned to his philosophical pursuits.