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valarltdThe opening scene of the short I just sent out:
Swift-Current dove deep, using his trident to clear the tangling seaweed that threatened to ensnare him. A cloud of pernicious plankton tried to clog his gills but a simple single note of song froze the water around them. He thrust into the heart of the sea-cave and saw the last obstacle.
The giant clam sat on sand stained green with the blood of other runners who had tried to steal from it. Swift-Current had studied the songs of their forays and knew what came next.
The clam opened and a rosy pearl, the size of Swift-Current's head, lay on the pulsating meat. Too easy to be tempted to swim in, seize the prize and fluke away, back to the city, back to the King.
He made a movement that sent a ripple toward the clam, edging around behind it, but sending ripples that the bivalve would sense as him coming in the front. The clam waited until he would be just reaching in, and then snapped shut with a force that would have severed him. Now he struck, driving his trident against the hinge of the shell, the weakest point.
One tine went in. He put his weight against the handle and levered the top shell upward. The clam resisted and he shoved the trident deeper, getting a release of foul fluid for his pains. Swift-Current swam out of range and let the fluid dissipate. He returned with the trident before the clam could seal itself shut.
He pried twice more before the hinge cracked. He pried the top shell away and thrust his trident deep into the flesh of the clam. Ordinarily, he would eat such a dainty, but this one was unsuitable for that. More fluid, but this time, he closed his gills, seized the pearl and swam out. Once out of fluid range, he let his gills flutter again.
The currents sang to him. “Come home. There is a meeting.” His King commanded it.
Swift-Current tucked his prize under his arm and swam back toward the City.
Swift-Current dove deep, using his trident to clear the tangling seaweed that threatened to ensnare him. A cloud of pernicious plankton tried to clog his gills but a simple single note of song froze the water around them. He thrust into the heart of the sea-cave and saw the last obstacle.
The giant clam sat on sand stained green with the blood of other runners who had tried to steal from it. Swift-Current had studied the songs of their forays and knew what came next.
The clam opened and a rosy pearl, the size of Swift-Current's head, lay on the pulsating meat. Too easy to be tempted to swim in, seize the prize and fluke away, back to the city, back to the King.
He made a movement that sent a ripple toward the clam, edging around behind it, but sending ripples that the bivalve would sense as him coming in the front. The clam waited until he would be just reaching in, and then snapped shut with a force that would have severed him. Now he struck, driving his trident against the hinge of the shell, the weakest point.
One tine went in. He put his weight against the handle and levered the top shell upward. The clam resisted and he shoved the trident deeper, getting a release of foul fluid for his pains. Swift-Current swam out of range and let the fluid dissipate. He returned with the trident before the clam could seal itself shut.
He pried twice more before the hinge cracked. He pried the top shell away and thrust his trident deep into the flesh of the clam. Ordinarily, he would eat such a dainty, but this one was unsuitable for that. More fluid, but this time, he closed his gills, seized the pearl and swam out. Once out of fluid range, he let his gills flutter again.
The currents sang to him. “Come home. There is a meeting.” His King commanded it.
Swift-Current tucked his prize under his arm and swam back toward the City.
