It is the sky they will remember later. How it changes, each shade of purple or pink more magnificent than the one before. A finger-painting. Across the island, pools and ponds reflect color, shifting and playful. The creatures of Vladis splash in the waters, squealing in delight, climb in and out. Avoiding bogs, they tread water to rise out of muck.

Everything about the island is oversized. Gigantic white flowers sprout in ponds and marshes. Mammoth birds with silver feathers peck at bugs. With a high cry, some fly up. A young creature answers, raising his head. The cry rises and falls in the evening sky like a clarion call.

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The creatures have existed on the island for a long time, in peace, far from most other land masses. Now as part of the island sinks underwater every year, they need a different place. A refuge.

Late in the evening, low over tree-tops, they travel. A brood. Pointy, burnished heads shining gold in the sun. In the bogs, a loon calls. A young creature waddles into a lake, picks up trout with its delicate snout and chews. Its thick tail swishes with pleasure. There is a thundering in the sky. Nervous heads as the storm comes like a sudden pour. They rush toward the hills, bellowing, the young clambering onto the backs of elders, as the water now rears, snake head, as large as anything else in the land. Torrential rain. The ocean rises, a black mass like tar.