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“Marron! What is that!?”
Krillin stood on the beach beside their little domed house, one hand buried in his hair while the other covered his mouth. His daughter, only five years old and more like his wife than he could have imagined, turned and rolled her eyes at him.
“It’s a seahorse, dad, obviously.”
“A…seahorse…” Krillin took a calming breath. “Where did you get him from, sweetheart?”
The horse whinnied and stomped one flipper-clad hoof in the waves. The inflatable ring around its neck squeaked and the snorkel-mask combo almost fell as it tossed its head.
“He was running on the beach. Looked like he needed a home. We’re going snorklin’.”
“Uh-huh.” Krillin scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know if he can swim, hun. Horses aren’t good at snorkling.”
She fixed him with a cool look, exactly imitating her mother when she thought he was being dumb.
“That’s what the ring is for, dad, duh!”
Of course. How could he have been so foolish?