Harper swam through the water, slicing through the cool liquid with ease and grace. She moved through the water in spurts of speed, her long chestnut hair streaming behind her in a curling mass. She twisted up and leaped out of the water, her red tail glistening in the moonlight. She shot six feet up in the air, and then fell back to the water, where she belonged. The lake welcomed her back with a splash, and Harper grinned. With a single flick of her tail, the young mermaid dove eighty feet, to the bottom of the lake. She swam along the bottom, her stomach brushing against the pale seaweed. With a burst of speed Harper turned, and spiraled up to the surface. She leaped up into the air, over and over, knowing that nobody could see. She stretched out her tail as far as it could go, and let the fins on her arms and torso elongate into sharp spines that cut through water like a knife. Her keen, cat-like eyes caught every ripple of the water, every wisp of the clouds overhead, even the rippling of the moonlight grass that surrounded the lake. As she cascaded back into the water, the young mermaid stretched out her arms to welcome the approaching lake. Then she was gone, the only trace that she was ever there were small ripples, already disappearing into the night.