Ocean swimming was boring, and Pahtl hated it. If he stayed too close to the shore so he could easily see the twists and turns of the land, then the waves snatched him and pulled him aground. If he stayed so far out that he could not see the shore, he could swim far better, but found himself quickly growing nervous that he would drift out into the endless sea and never find land again. He was the best at swimming, but even a water person as strong and smart and big as he was had to know his limits.
He'd left the mists behind days ago, being very careful to steer wide of both the massive land creatures and the monster lurking in the salt sea. The frog men were too stupid to take note of him so long as he left them alone, and as much fun as it might have been to bite them just to have a bit of a chase, Pahtl had more pressing matters to take care of. Tarek needed him, and that particular slick-skin was far too interesting to let die.
The aching pressure in his head that he’d felt when he returned to the Land had eased as the distance between them slowly lessened, but it was still uncomfortable. Doubtless it had something to do with Tarek’s blood magic. As much as he enjoyed the fact that he could speak slick-skin now and had grown larger than any water person he’d ever heard of, Pahtl was beginning to wonder if the blood magic wasn’t more trouble than it was worth.
That was a conversation he’d have with the boy as soon as they were reunited, but for now there was still an untold distance to cover. He knew in his bones that he’d travel far faster on the water than over land, so rather than go ashore where the other cubs had when they’d crossed the water on that unnaturally large shell-back swimmer, he tried to find the sweet spot where he could swim parallel to the shore without being pulled in or drift too far from land. He found the trick of it faster than anyone else would have, but it was still laborious, because the sweet spot shifted – sometimes closer to land, sometimes farther.
Even more annoying was the reality that he had to go ashore several times a day for fresh water and at least once to sleep. There were fish aplenty as he swam, even though the water was murky and everything tasted of salt and kelp. But he could not drink the sea water, and trudging ashore four times a day – or perhaps it was a thousand – stole precious time and energy. Even now, the sun had turned red and was sinking beneath the waves in the distance. He wished that the sun would warm the water when it dove into the sea each night, but somehow everything got colder once it was dark. His legs were heavy and his tail was listless in the water, so he turned shoreward and let the waves pull him in. He could have kept going, of course, but he chose not to. Even swimming could get boring, as strange as that seemed.
The shore here was carved from harsh stone, with tide pools dotting the wide rock shelf that stretched in both directions, a water-ribbed cliff looming overhead. No bed of ferns for me tonight. He did not need them, of course, but a little comfort made the long, lonely days a little less bitter.
The tide pools had fascinating spiny creatures that flexed their tines when he batted them. It was a fun game hitting them before they could stick him, and he always won. Then, just as the game was getting boring, he accidentally flipped one over and found that they were soft on the underside… and delicious. Their flesh was light and soft like a fish, but sweet like the meals the fat slick-skin liked to cook. He ate seven of them, or maybe a thousand.
Eventually, his hunger sated better than it had been in a very long time, he wandered along the base of the cliff until he found a drip of fresh water making a deep groove in the rock. He licked and licked and licked. The stone felt good against his rough tongue, and the water was almost as good as the spiny things.
Then he looked for a nook in the rock high enough from the waterline that he could sleep without being washed away on a rising tide, but low enough that he could clamber up into it. He wished it would simply appear before him. Hunting for a bedding spot was boring, especially when it was going to be nothing but a hole in the rock. I am the greatest of the water people. I should have ferns to sleep on. The pale one always found me bedding and slept by me. I should have made her come with me. He knew that he wouldn’t have, but it was nice to imagine his fierce, red maned slick-skin friend taking care of him for a moment.
“Whassit?” piped a small voice from a shadowy tide pool. “Gorm fooler, whadda smacker ‘ee is!”
Pahtl whirled, his teeth bared and legs set, hackles spiked.
“Ner, noon o’ that!” came another voice, a little deeper than the first but still light and childish. “We’re nought but a smunch atween yer chomps, an’ we’ll na taek nary a nibble, fer rightsure.”
A furred head poked up from the shadowed pool, its eyes glinting a reflective green in the last of the light. Blunt ears, the suggestion of sharp white teeth in the dark outline of the face, and a shock of whiskers to either side. Pahtl, undaunted by the strange speech, crept forward one pace, and then two. Three more heads popped up, and he heard a familiar, hooting giggle. Pahtl relaxed. They were water people. Not quite like him – he was a river water person, and they were obviously of the sea, not to mention the largest of them being barely a third his size – but close enough.
“How ye got sur boomy?” said the smallest of the bunch. Looking down into the pool, Pahtl saw there was a whole raft of them floating together, most on their backs and clutching paws to stay linked. His heart clenched in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while.
“I don’t understand you,” he told them. “Your talk is strange.”
“How… ye… got… sur… boomy?” the little one said, speaking slow and loud. “Lookaye! Are ye smunchin’ sharks a get so vast?”
For once, Pahtl didn’t know what to say.
“Beeg!” piped up another one. “Yer beeg, chief! Howaye sucha boomer?”
“Big,” Pahtl repeated, latching onto the one word he was fairly sure of. “Yes, I am the biggest water person. I can swim the farthest, too.”
“Wheenow, I’ll na be so verisure o’ that,” said the first one, chuckling. “Stillanall, yer a smacker, fer rightsure.”
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“Thatun must gob a tuna in three gulps,” said the smallest one. “Smunch up all the spinies with a swipe, for rightsure.”
“The spine crawlers?” Pahtl said, only moderately sure that was what the small one said. “I turned them over with my claws and ate them. A thousand, at least.”
That got a reaction. All of them cried in delight and swarmed out of the water, chasing circles around him. “Show us! Show us!”
There was nothing for it but to lead the strange little raft of water people to one of the biggest tide pools and dive in, showing them how it was done. Once turned over onto their spiny backs, the creatures were helpless, and it was easy to flip them up out of the water and into the waiting jaws of the little ones.
“Yer pokies are smackers,” said one of them when he surfaced, holding up its miniature claws alongside his own. The paw looked like a flower next to his, the claws hardly more than slender thorns. “Hard for us’uns ter bowl em from aneath.”
Pahtl felt a surge of pride. “I will feed you all,” he promised them. And so he did, going from pool to pool until well past dark, seeking out the spinies with his dimsight, reveling in the hoots of delights and satisfied crunching, slurping sounds he heard every time he surfaced. It was nice to have these water people recognize that he was the greatest of them, even if they spoke strangely. The longer he listened, the more he began to catch the odd lilt of their speech and understand more of what they said. Soon enough, he was certain that he understood at least half of what they were saying, or maybe everything ever.
Finally, though, weariness pulled at him and the spiny-fetch game grew boring. “I need to sleep, little ones,” he told them. “Is there a good spot where I can rest without the tide catching me?”
They rubbed their faces in confusion, looking at him like he was daft. “Float onna tide,” the smallest one said. “Link up widda raft.” None of them had names, since water people did not need them, but in his head he decided to call her Fashagar. He liked the way the sounds fit together, and they fit her somehow. I have named one of the water people. That has never been done before. It was a strange thought, and he didn’t think he would have thought it before he met Tarek. He thought about telling her the name, but doubted she would understand.
“I have no raft,” he admitted to them. “They all died when I was little. Not so little as you, but a long time ago. A year, maybe.” He’d heard Tavi use that word, and he knew it meant a long time.
The little ones all turned solemn, their mouths turned down and their front paws clutching at their chest fur as they made soft keening noises.
“Assa bad one, fer rightsure,” Fashagar said, nuzzling him in sympathy. “Ye can float wid us anight.”
“I…” Pahtl felt hesitant, even as the thought of snuggling down with these odd creatures pulled at him. “I do not think I could float as you do. I am too big.”
There were whispers among them, and another one ran up, scampering in an excited circle around him. “Whadda the grotto? Safe ansound, fer rightsure!”
“Aye,” said Fashagar thoughtfully. “A bonnie think, that.” She reared up on her hind legs and put her paws as far up toward his shoulders as she could, though that was nearer his belly than anything with how small she was. “We’ve a spot. Swim afollow and ye’ll be safe ansound.”
She dashed off into the water without waiting for him to respond, and the others bounded after, hooting and gabbling in excitement. Pahtl sighed. These water people people were fun, but they also made him feel tired. Still, he slid into the salt sea one more time, tailing after them easily. Down beneath the rock shelf they dove, all heading for a dark tunnel in the stone a good swim beneath the surface. The tunnel twisted and turned through the water, and though he had plenty of breath yet, Pahtl hoped in his mind that these oddlings weren’t leading him to some underwater sleeping spot where they’d float all night without surfacing. He didn’t think water people could do that – he couldn’t, so certainly not – but with strangers, one never knew.
Fortunately, the tunnel wended upward eventually, and soon they surfaced in a pitch-black underground cave with soft, dry sand.
“Safe ansound, it is,” Fashagar said nearby. “Sleep your winkies anight, and we’ll join ye.”
Pahtl didn’t have to be told twice. He found the highest spot right near the curve of the rock wall and settled down. He was half asleep already when he felt one small body curl up in the curve of his belly, then another around his back, and one worming in under his chin. In heartbeats the whole raft had piled themselves around and on top of him like a blanket. Little paws nestled into his own – five, or six, or maybe a thousand.
He slept better than he had in forever.
* * *
He caught them more spinies come daybreak and beat all of them in sea races to the big rock standing out in the waves, except for two of them who were cheating somehow. He did not let it bother him; they were children and size and in mind, and besides, he knew better than anyone that it was fun to cheat sometimes. Most of them were now dozing on the warm rock in the morning sun, sated by their play and bellies still full.
“Thank you for showing me the sleeping cave,” he told them. “Now I leave.”
Fashagar stopped chewing on the rock she was polishing her teeth on and cocked her head. “Whassa seekfor? Stay and catch spinies, beeg chief. Ye play a bonnie race.”
“There is a slick-skin who needs me,” he said, feeling almost foolish as he heard the words. They were not water people words. “He is like pack to me. Part of my raft.”
Fashagar’s eyes widened. “A water kin withnae fur? Assa bad spot, fer rightsure.”
She did not know what slick-skins were. Looking at the desolate coast, he realized that likely none of this raft had ever seen one. He thought about explaining them to her but realized that her misunderstanding made things easier. Leave it be. Another thought that didn’t feel like water people thinking, and yet…
“He has no fur, yes. I must find him and protect him, even though he is far.”
“Far far?” she asked. “Round the rock? Past the cove?”
“Much farther,” he told her, satisfied by how her eyes popped at this. “I will swim many days to find him.”
“I can swim afollow,” she said, perking up. “I swim afarthest.”
A chorus of drowsy boasting rose from the piled little ones, each proclaiming their own prowess. Every last one of them thought they could swim the farthest. Pahtl was sure they could not, since he could. He had a vision of this funny, sweet raft of oddlings crowding around him as he swam and very much liked the idea. No. They do not understand. There will be more dangers like the sea monster and the frog men – such things swarm to Tarek like flies to dung. I do not want them to die.
“You could,” he told Fashagar. “You swim the farthest. Yes, so do you,” he said to another that peeked his head up in protest. “But it will be boring. You should stay.”
“Iffen it’s boresome, whassa go fer?” Fashagar said. “Stay. The raft gets beeger.”
Once more Pahtl felt the temptation, but still Tarek was pulling at the back of his mind. “Your raft is good, and you are fun,” he said. “But I go.”
His goodbyes complete, he slipped into the sea and turned his nose to true north, keeping land to his left. The big rock had been right in the sweet spot, and he would make good time. That is good. Better than the raft. Or maybe not, but still good.
He had not yet passed the ribbed cliffs on his left when the others caught up to him, swimming in a sinuous clump to either side of him.
“Why do you swim?” Pahtl asked. “I am not racing.”
“If we havanow race, I’da win it,” she said. “Ner, we’s alongin’ go. Ye catch us spinies an’ we raft ye ‘til ye find yer furless.”
All the objections he’d thought of earlier were right on his tongue, but Pahtl couldn’t find the heart to speak them. They would grow bored soon enough and return to their usual grounds.
In the meantime, it was good not to be alone.