Amnesia and Star Child

I guess I drop off, at any rate I don’t remember much, all I can remember is opening my eyes and sitting up.
With a sigh I climb out of bed, absent mindedly taking the pan flute in my hand as I walk through the cottage and out the front door, negotiating my way down through the vegetation and back out to my rock where I sit down.
I look up at the moonlit sky and then back out to the loch, hearing the sounds of owls and other night creatures - in the distance; I can see the lights in the tavern are on, glowing like little golden fireflies or something.
I turn my gaze back to the black loch and bring the flute to my lips, blowing into it and producing a long, low note.
The note trails off into nothingness and I play another one - higher this time, then lower and higher again, steadily playing out a song.
I don’t really know what it is.
Suddenly I pause - hearing a splash - I sit for several minutes with my ears straining to hear the sound should it repeat itself.
When it doesn’t, I start playing again.
First a low note, then a higher one, lower, higher, and then lower, lower and a high note.
The loch looks so still, the moon’s reflection is barely fractured it’s so smooth - I don’t remember any lake back at my old home ever being like that.
My last note echoes off into the distance, so I play another and listen to the echo again. When that trails off I play one more, turning my head slightly and listening to the relay.
Wit a minute... That’s no echo - that’s... That’s someone responding.
I start playing a short tune, the first one that pops to my head - which happens to be that Free Willy harmonica piece.
The response comes barely moments after I finish - an exact copy of the pan flute’s notes I just executed.
With that - I need no more encouragement - I throw my telepathic waves forwards and fan my vision out over the lake, seeing nothing unusual until - there, standing high on a rock face, a pale man with the longest, whitest Merlin hair and beard that I’ve ever seen.
Seriously. The guy must’ve had snow for hair - or better - white paint, he looked so snowy it was too bright to be human. Through warm, but electric blue eyes he surveys the loch just as I am, waiting - much like me - for a reply.
Is that Hideaway Fingal or am I just seeing things?
Just to be sure, I rub my eyes - but that doesn’t affect anything - dammit I’m using a different sight pattern. So... No - I’m definitely not seeing things.
He’s wearing a long white robe that’s tattered and looks very old, so old I get the strange thought he might be from the medieval times.
That’s a weird one.
I touch the wooden instrument to my lips and play a few notes of Breaking The Habit, and I watch as the guy smiles and responds, his notes floating back through the still night air like ghosts of something else.
A half smirking smile crosses my face and I lazily sling my arms over my drawn up knees, watching as the old dude - Hideaway Fingal - plays back his own song.
Suddenly - totally out of the blue - something rises up fast, just next to my rock - I squeal and lose my balance and all other control - my eyesight returns to my external eyes just as I hit the icy water that tears at my skin like a thousand sharp knives.
It - it’s so fucking cold I can’t breathe!
Shit!
I flounder, splashing about like a kid who has never swum before in his life, I struggle to the surface and gasp in a lungful of air, somehow keeping hold of my pan flute in all of this.
I feel a bump against my leg - then my other leg - under me!
On the surface I can’t see anything, but I can feel something underneath me, it nudges my along, into the water, further away from firm ground, further out into the bitter cold of the loch.
I scope out with my telepathy, but the water’s as murky as shit - I can’t see a damn thing - so I return my sight to normal, just as the thing lifts it’s head out of the water.
“Gaah!” I squeal, staring wide eyed at the animal before me.
Its head is delicate and tapered, perched atop a sleek, lithe neck which rocks back and forth like a pendulum as it propels itself through the water.
“I’ll give one bet that you’re the Loch Ness Monster.” I say to it, not really expecting any reply.
Not ‘the’, Star Child.
I could tell it was a she from her telepathic sound waves in my head - not only that, I could almost be certain she was a good deal older than my grandma.
Wait... Not ‘the’...?
I look around - and suddenly that water is churning up all around me - what seems to be at least ten plesiosaur looking things surface and breathe through slits at the end of their snouts - that’s not possible right? I mean - plesiosaurs died out millions of years ago right?
Well... Maybe natural causes missed a few.