Niko let his hooves carry him down towards the docks. He was completely lost in thought as his small forrest community gave way to a coastline settlement. It was surreal to have Lukas recognize him as Elder Katsaros. He was an integrated and well respected member of this community...!
A well respected elder with an apprentice no less. Niko felt a shiver run down his tail when he first heard the satyr’s name. Andreios was... Andrew. The memories were fuzzy. The young man was a pupil of Niko’s, that much he knew. Whether he was being taught in the ways of fishing or the fine arts would be less clear. He’d know soon enough whether or not he was the new satyr he’d seen in the painting.
Despite the urgency of his task, Niko found himself taking a relatively leisurely stroll through town. Everyone here had plenty of time to give him a friendly wave, a hearty pat on the back, or a brief bit of chatter. He didn’t want to be rude by rushing by everyone after all.
“Baah, Elder Katsaros! Come, you must try this bread! It’s fresh from the oven!”
“Elder Katsaros! How are the tallies going? Are we going to have a fish surplus this season?”
“Elder! Come teach us that hoof ball trick!”
That last one caught Niko a bit off guard. He wasn’t the most athletic member of the history department. Yet somehow he knew just how to bounce a ball off his hoof to spin impressively around the kids.
The professor’s physique shifted slightly as he dallied with the youngins. In this new life he’d spent years as a fisherman. His beer gut shifted into a more respectable, well, it was still a wine gut, but there were muscles hidden underneath it now. His arms and legs bulked up a bit, and that bad knee of his got awfully quiet.
He waved farewell to the ball players with a pair of worn calloused hands. He never got this sort of greeting when walking through the history building. Everyone seemed so pleased to see him. There were no smartphones to distract everyone, and there was little urgency in the village as the sun set.
Niko’s nostrils flared as he picked up the smell of the sea. He was getting close to the shore now. Salt filled air seeped into the roots of his fur. He felt all at once an overwhelming feeling that he was home.
He surely had a cabin somewhere proper in the village, but he knew for a fact that he had helped construct the boardwalk he was now clopping across. Even as he tried to marvel at the little notches put int the wood to prevent falls on slippery hooves, he knew exactly which woodworking techniques were used to create them. His tan visibly darkened a second time as he walked along the pier.
Most of the boats were in the process of sailing back for the day. The memories were almost overwhelming for Niko now. He felt relieved to see their small fleet of fishing ships make it home safe and sound. Every ship’s flag immediately brought to mind the specific crew of sea-legged satyrs he had mentored over the years.
“Baah, even as a sea goat I’m still a teacher,” Niko wrapped his hand around one of the posts. He tried to think back to his students back home when his mind skipped a beat. The only faces of his pupils that he could recall came to mind with horns and scruff.
Niko’s ears flickered. “Don’t tell me my paint’s started to dry already...”
Right. He needed to focus. Andreios was waiting for him around here somewhere.
Baah, it was late in the day for a fishing lesson. The buck probably just finished his fishing rod and was eager to show it off.
Niko’s hooves reflexively brought him to his favorite pier. He tried not to dwell too much on how many reel construction thoughts were ringing around in the back of his head. He wanted to rescue his apprentice, not grade his work.
Sitting there at the end of the docks was a young satyr. His goat legs were dangling over the end of the dock, but there was enough scruffy brown fur on his hips for Niko to see. His stubby goat tail was turned up in the air and wagging excitedly.
The satyr was wearing a small green vest. His golden-framed spectacles were catching the evening light as Niko approached.
This was it. He’d found Andreios.
The satyr was distracted as Niko approached. He was busy polishing his pole. For perhaps the first time in the village’s history, that wasn’t a satyric euphemism.
How should he approach? As a village elder and the fishersatyr’s mentor? As the realm-traveling art history professor? Andreios didn’t seem nervous or anxious. Did he even remember his life back on Earth?
Here goes nothing. Elder Katsaros cleared his throat.
“That’s a nice rod you’ve got there Andreios.”