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She could never stop moving, or the oxygen would cease to flow over her gills.
On the fifth day of her migration, the water turned thick and bitter. A net, discarded by a trawler miles away, drifted through the water column like a translucent spiderweb. She could never stop moving, or the oxygen
Every beat of her wings was a calculated leverage against the water. She could never stop moving
The mesh bit into her skin. Instinct told her to bolt, to flap harder. But panic was a luxury the deep did not afford. Thrashing would only tighten the web. She slowed her heart rate. She tilted her giant body, feeling the tension of the lines. discarded by a trawler miles away