The young girl's eyes were wide and the moment Father Brennan brought a finger to his lip, and grew even as she turned to see where he pointed.  Even though Mable's eyes were adjusted to the dark, it took a moment of frantic searching to see the fish pointed out to her.  She gasped when she saw them.

"Oh, my..!" she whispered back, staying still as possible in the water as the shimmery shadows moved past her.  Mable was tempted to reach out and try to touch them, but she knew it would frighten them, so she stayed still.

"Father Brennan, what kind of fish is that?  They're so beautiful."  Mable's voice was still a reverent whisper, her gaze only returning to the man at the last possible minute when the fish were completely out of her sight.  "Where are they going?  Did you see how many there was?  I could only see them a bit..."

Malachi kept as still as he could, even going so far as to set a hand to the back of Mable’s shoulder to steady her as well. Similarly transfixed, he watched the slow passage of the fish without once taking his eyes off of them.

“I haven’t a clue,” he admitted, matching her volume. “But I suspect you could ask someone in town and they’d be able to tell you.”

It did not seem like that far of a stretch to assume that most people in Whitby – at least most of the locals - knew a fair bit more about the native fish than either of them did. Slowly, Malachi got to his feet, soaked through and raining droplets down upon the surface of the water.

“They’re headed up the river, though. If it wasn’t so late already, we could follow them to the beach.”

Heading that far from the hotel at this hour, without her brother’s knowledge, did not feel like a good idea.

Malachi offered her a smile and said, “next time. I’m sure there are plenty of creatures to be found there besides worms, too.”

He extended a hand towards her, expecting for her to hold on to him again, and nodded towards the path they’d walked down from.

“We should head back to the road before we catch colds, don’t you think?”

In quick succession, Mable's shoulders rose and fell; first at the mention of the beach and then the moment Father Brennan said next time.  She knew what was coming after that, but sighed all the same.  Wordless, Mable stood in the water, watching the flow move to accommodate around her.

"Worms are the best creatures," she said as she took Father Brennan's hand again, and stepped closer to have her other hand on his arm for extra stability.  "But I suppose it will be easier to see them in the daylight."

Whether it was intentional or not, Mable walked back down the river slower than before.  She was quiet even now, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering.  Somehow, the night air was colder than the river had been.  Or maybe it just felt that much more unwelcome.

"Will there be church tomorrow, Father Brennan?  I'd like to see you again, if that's alright.  I'll bring my brother too."

Mable’s sigh was a clear enough sign he’d disappointed her, but the slowed pace at which she waded through the river was impossible to miss. He set his other hand over the one that held onto his arm, covering it with what warmth still radiated from his skin, which was… not much.

The mention of church earned a glance down at her. He hoped she knew that he would be more than happy to see her whether she visited the actual church or not – but he was not about to turn her (or her brother) away from it either. It was his job to guide people to it, after all.

“Of course,” said Malachi, “you and your brother are always welcome to find me.”

Not to mention he’d probably come and find them any chance he got, just to make sure they were alright. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do with his nights.

“Our main services are on Sundays, but we hold mass every morning. I should be there whether something is going on or not, though,” at least he was supposed to be. “Now why do you say that worms are the best creatures?”

Mable couldn't tell if Father Brennan changing the subject from church was for her sake or for his.  Was her hesitance about the idea so obvious in her voice?  Or did the priest not want to think about it more than he already had to?  Either way, Mable only had a slight idea of what made mass different from Sunday services, and she didn't bother asking for clarification.  Worms were much more important to her.

"They're very small, you see, Father," she began, her voice brighter now that she was on the subject.  "But they're very important.  They keep the dirt clean and help plants grow.  If there's no worms in your dirt, you're not likely to grow much of anything."

That was what she remembered at least.  Her lessons in Pennsylvania were... abnormal at best, both in circumstances and curriculum, but she treasured the knowledge all the same.

"Also, they're very slimy and wriggly.  They can wiggle right out of your hand if you're not careful.  When it rains, they come up in the grass to breathe.  Sometimes they get washed away from the dirt, though, so after it rains you have to go around and pick them up and put them back in the dirt.  My brother and I would do that every time it rained.  We must have saved more than a hundred - or maybe even a thousand worms doing that!"

Saving the worms after storms were one of the only good things to happen when it rained.  Mable hated the rain so much, all the more for the stress it must cause the poor worms, but she learned the best techniques for picking them up and holding them and setting them back in the dirt during the post storm rituals.

"Those are my thoughts, at least.  What's your best creature, Father?  Is it a worm too, now?"

He had not expected to spend any part of his night hearing about the benefits of worms and their presence in soil, but Mable certainly guided him through the topic with an enthusiasm that was difficult not to share in.

There had never been a reason to know about worms – he supposed the streets of London would not have been the best place to find them anyway, had he been allowed outside to search. Malachi couldn’t imagine running about to pick up waterlogged worms after every storm.

“I’m sure the worms were grateful for that,” he said, surprised by her care for them. Plenty of children were… less sympathetic, to put it kindly, to the plight of smaller creatures.

Malachi hummed as he considered the question, leading Mable back the last few watery steps to the shore. What was his best creature… what a curious question that was. Human beings, realistically, though they doubled as the worst as well.

Not worms, despite the girl’s convincing argument. Not fish. Something pretty, but capable of violence too; something that could always get away. Worms might have burrowed underground and lived in the dark, like him, but he had always dreamed of open sky.

“You do make some excellent points,” Malachi nodded, then decided, “but mine is a bird. They can sing and fly.”

Those seemed like sound reasons to him. He walked her over to where their shoes sat before he bothered to release her hand, and even then, it was only to lean down and put his shoes on.

“Suppose next time we should bring towels,” he commented as he did.

Birds were a nice animal, Mable supposed.  Singing and flying were very good skills for an animal to have, and most birds were very pretty.  She and her brother had been woken up by birdsong many a time on the farm.  It was not hard to grow fond of them.  Still...

"Early bird gets the worm, Father, but I hope your bird would spare my worms.  I think they'd be good friends like us once they got to know each other."  Playfully, she tugged on the wet sleeve in her grip and gave the tall man a smile.

With even more reluctance than just walking back to the bank of the river, Mable stepped out and followed Father Brennan to their shoes.  Her hands were sad and cold when he let go of them, but she tried to distract herself by putting on her shoes.

"Next time?" she repeated hopefully, sweeping her curly hair, heavy and dripping over her shoulder as she straightened up again.  More than that, the suggestion of towels surprised her, but she supposed it wasn't proper for either of them to walk the streets, drenched down to their small clothes.

Decisively, Mable nodded once.  "All right.  Next time."

Malachi couldn’t help a soft laugh at that.

“I suppose it does,” he agreed. “And I think you’re right. They certainly could be.”

There was no reason why a predator could not first befriend its prey.

He led them out of the water and to their waiting shoes, and once he’d pulled his back on, he gave a nod. Yes, he was confident that there would be a next time – so long as the siblings stayed in town long enough for there to be. Malachi’s discomfort was clear on his face once he took a step, however, as his socks and shoes slowly succumbed to the water that still dripped from the rest of him.

What an awful feeling. If he had much else other than his cassocks, he would have to wear them the next time he decided jumping in a river was a good idea.

Malachi shivered, suddenly cool despite the summer heat.

Holding a hand out to Mable, he said, “we should head back towards the hotel, before your brother gets back and worries about you.”

"My brother will worry no matter what," Mable replied lightly, taking Father Brennan's hand in one of hers.  The girl opted not to put on her socks, instead using them to dry off her feet best she could.  She didn't say anything when her companion slipped his own over his feet and then put his shoes on over that, but she did smirk at the expression he made as they started walking down the street.

"If we weren't on a proper road, I'd be walking  barefoot.  You can do that in grass as long as you watch out for burrs and thorns.  Have you ever walked barefoot in grass, Father?  I feel as though everyone ought to, at least once.  It's a very nice feeling.  Should I add that to our lessons, after climbing trees and digging for worms?"

Now exposed to the night air, Mable had a harder time hiding how cold she really was.  Her teeth chattered even when she spoke and her shoulders shook just a bit.  She was certain she had goose pimples all down her arms and legs under the clothes that clung to her skin.

With any luck, Father would leave any concern about her to her brother.

With any luck, father would give her one last warm hug before leaving her for the night.

"I'll think more on things for us to do tonight," she continued happily, forcing her thoughts quiet.  "If I can find a pen and paper, I'll even make a list.  If there anything you'd like to do in particular?"

Her questions were so simple, and should have been just as easy to answer. How had this little girl managed to make him question so many of the little things he probably should have done, but never had?

Had he ever walked barefoot in the grass? As a child, maybe. Before his father took him away from one island and shoved him onto another.

“…Yes, you should add– wait,” Malachi glanced down at her, one brow raised in suspicion. “I did not agree to climb any trees. How could we ever find one tall enough?”

His tone might have been serious, wary even – but it was clearly a joke.

Malachi gave her hand a gentle squeeze. If she wanted him to climb a tree, then he would climb a tree. He would just hope that he did not fall and hurt himself, because how would he explain that one to Father Richards and Mrs. Higgins?

He watched her for a moment longer, the way she shook from the cool water, and pulled her to walk at his side instead, with an arm around her shoulders. He had not dried any more than she had yet, but he still maintained more heat than a much smaller girl.

“I would like to…”

Hm. What were things that, as a child, he had never gotten to do? The list was all too long. He’d just wanted to be a normal kid, like Levi, most of all.

(Oh, how he’d wished that boy would have just been his friend. Now it felt ridiculous, but back then… anything would have sufficed.)

“…Play a game?” he offered, though he sounded unsure, as if he didn’t know if his choice was among the right answers. “What kinds of things do you do when you’re on your own?”