Frozen Worlds
It’s a rare thing, to find darkness unoccupied.
On land, shadows writhed with the dead and reborn. In the air, a flash of wing was all prey might see against the twinkle of a star before the end came. And in the water, merfolk claimed the dark.
They weren’t constrained to the oceans, either.
Carried by the tectonic forces of glaciers and earth-splitting rivers, they found their way into the deep waters of the world. Some traveled to and from the ocean, traversing deltas and streams with the season. And some, like the Lake Tahoe pod, had thrived in isolation for hundreds of generations.
High in the Sierra Nevada mountains, Lake Tahoe was a world unto itself. Frigid, crystal clear waters spanned one hundred and ninety-one square miles, and every one of them was claimed by an unbroken chain of merfolk.
Rarely seen by the scattered resort towns and ski lodges that clung to their home’s edge, the merfolk had little interest in the outside world. They showed themselves for three reasons and three reasons only: to trade, to mate, and to worship.
On the darkest night of the year, when the snow fell and the edges of the lake became shattered glass, their dark bodies rose from the darkest depths to greet the sky.
Those that dared live in the towns during the winter gathered on docks and along the shoreline to exchange offerings. Handmade gifts, food, and trinkets left and entered webbed hands with murmured well-wishes. Children, merfolk and land-dweller, chattered as adults caught up.
Many of them had done the ritual with the same groups all their lives, creating a tapestry of connections that spanned generations. The darkest night was lit with bonfires, flashlights, and the joy of reuniting with friends.
The differences that separated them fell away, and if one was lucky, a new connection might be made under the cover of darkness — a gift all its own.