i need nothing to travel the sea
She can almost taste them. The school of mackerel had begun to flee at the first sight of her slender body cutting through the water and now they are engaged in the century-old chase of predator versus prey. They say always run faster than the slowest in the group, a phrase that remains true for the striped fish as each attempts to outswim the other. Despite their best efforts, Rivuline is closing in. Where the school tries to elude her (a quick dodge between two rocks, winding between the silky fins of the rays, leaping up toward the surface of the ocean) she finds a way to make up the difference (pumping her water-wings to swim above the rocks, dropping lower to avoid the rays, pushing her own body toward the surface).
The rush of the chase pumps adrenaline in her vessels and narrows the amber of her eyes into a bloodthirsty gaze.
The fleeing prey collectively make a poor choice, choosing to head toward Taiga’s shore where the water is shallower, and Rivuline’s mouth stretches into a toothy grin. A small portion of the shoreline caves inland, forming a chute that appears safe from below the water but merely ends in a small pool of mingling freshwater and seawater. Rivuline knows the school of mackerel is heading toward a dead-end and she will be the closed door to their escape. While they flee inward, she emerges from the water. The chute is both narrow and shallow, reaching only to her knees, but Rivuline pursues her meal with the same passion as she had underwater.
When they realize they are trapped, some of the fish begin to fling themselves upward, as if a death upon land might be preferred to her toothy mouth. Rivuline catches two of the mackerel with ease and flings them upon the embankment with a quick twitch of her head. Three more soon follow, but as the turquoise steps deeper into the pool, there is an opening for the mackerel to escape back toward the ocean. She lets them flee, only after snapping four more from their population.
Satisfied, Rivuline steps out of the pool and onto the mossy bank. The water is set just within the treeline and a soft tickling sound comes from a nimble creek of freshwater pouring into the pool. Summertime sunlight falls through the redwoods, dappling the ground in shades of deep green and emerald. The majority of her catch is still now and Rivuline’s pale nostrils quiver with anticipation at the smell radiating off their scales.
She eats them like a savage, with the primal hunger of a shark-driven feeding frenzy. Rivuline had spent a few days exploring the edges of Taiga furthest from the ocean and her return to the more familiar pieces of the forest had left her starved and ready to hunt. She eats all nine silver-bodied fish, a heavy sigh of contentment passing through her bloodstained mouth at the end of her feast.
