The whale lumbers on the empty beach, struggling against its weight to breathe and desperate to stop itself from bursting open like an overripe corpse. It should never have returned to the land its forebears had so studiously left behind all those years ago; but they were curious, driven to explore the open air by the stories that other whales told of it. Now they rolled themselves pointlessly against the sand, water lapping against its drying bulk, and watched warily as the spears approached.
They did not look sharp, and they moved on this sand free of
their vessels that glided so precariously along the waves, but still, they
could cause pain. The whale felt a hand touch its underside and it tried to let
out a warning call, but the air could not carry it like the cold water could
and all that came out was a faint echo in the air.
The spears drew closer, circling the whale cautiously but
with interested filling their eyes. More hands rubbed against their underbelly,
pushing against it. Then, the vessels approached, moving more gracefully over
the green sand beyond, the whale felt fear, and desperately looked for an
escape.
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