FSE

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"So...does this mean we're not setting out?" I asked rhetorically.

"No. I mean, not yet." Isthia replied. There was distance to her tone.

The man Isthia struggled to save from drowning was not yet safe. After allowing his well-being to tug and nag at her brain for the past day or two, why let it return? Empathy for other people was never my strongest trait, pre-and-post dolphin.

We knew the man was on an island. The sudden sloping of the sandbar into the seabed was alien this far up the coast. We knew the island was five miles from his sunken boat, which was a good sixty to seventy miles from the shore. Under such stress of impending devastation, we had grossly miscalculated his position from the coastline. With Isthia's unforgiving fatalism and my frantic helplessness, neither of us had a good idea the distance from our grotto to his ship. Had we known the correct distance, I'm certain even Isthia would've let this stupid, sorry soul drown.

"But, they know about islands," Isthia muttered, "They'll come to pick him up." Her tone snapped back to a cheerful, confident soprano. "They'll come to pick him up! People know how and where to find these islands. They'll know where he is."

Her sudden optimism begged reassurance. "Yeah! I guarantee this island is on a map somewhere. And this man has a family who must be looking for him." Wow, how was I able to match her pitch like that?

A spark flew in Isthia's eyes. "You're right! And who knows- all those machines and tools he had on the ship- maybe they can track him to this spot!"

The ship lacked the size and quality to contain such luxuries, that much I knew for sure. However, the twinge of desperation in her eyes kept this information secret. In its place came a spontaneous lie.

"Of course, this man is a coast guard!"

Isthia hit a mental brick wall. "A what?"

"A coast guard. They were these people who went up and down the coast in boats to make sure nothing illegal was happening."

Isthia's neutral, tentative expression urged me onwards. "Yeah, see. They patrol the waters close to land. People smuggling drugs or doing other illegal things would be stopped by them and arrested."

Was I speaking English? I must have been. A mixture of confusion and fear arose on her face, as if I'd started speaking in tongues.

"Well, my point is that they have the kinds of machines you were talking about. They always have to know exactly where they are in case somebody falls overboard. They wear these tracking devices so they can be found right away by people on the shore. Who knows? They may have already picked him up and taken him back home!"

The haze gradually dissipated in Isthia's expression. "Okay..." she said at length, "So you're saying he may not even be on the island?"

"Yes! Isthia, they'll find him! Even if the island ISN'T on a map somewhere, there are people on the shore who know EXACTLY where he is! Now, let's go!" I flicked my head southwards as I spoke, preparing for the long journey ahead.

"But what if he IS on the island?" The innocence of her question felt like a knife in my chest. I turned back towards her.

"Isthia, don't worry about him! He's on land- its safe up there."

She didn't appear sated. Her eyes had bulged out as she focused on me, studying my suspiciously dismissive behavior.

"Look... I told you, he's a man obsessed with being prepared and staying safe. Obviously, being in the storm wasn't much of either, but that man knows what he is doing. I guarantee you that he grabbed water bottles or food or whatever he needed before the ship went down. He'll be fine, Isthia."

She remained silent. My efforts to soothe her had been spot-on thanks to years of practice. But presently, my ability to convince her remained ineffective.

Be diplomatic, Gregory. Sure, you're exploiting her ignorance of ocean cops. Sure, even you have a hard time believing everything you said. But she won't be convinced without evidence, which you can't give. So, let her win this one...But only for the night.

"Alright, love. We'll stay here until morning. If he's gone, we can leave. If he isn't, let's just wait until he DOES leave, alright?" I nuzzled against her cape. She returned the gesture after a brief pause.

As night waned and the watered-down blue of the rising sun appeared, we took turns hunting for fish and surveying the island. Isthia intended to gain better knowledge of the island's size, shape and flora in case the man indeed stayed behind. Scanning along the shallows, she managed to roughly outline the island. Composed mostly of sand, there were enough rocks to keep a shape and allow some trees and vegetation to grow. The side facing Open Ocean, where we'd thrown him into shore, had a large dune running along the coast as if a giant serpent lay below. From that angle, we weren't able to see what was on the other side. Upon further viewing, we discovered the opposite side was open and flat. Two monster palm trees on opposing sides offered what little shade there was available. Since looking at the island from the surface was difficult, the only things visible to us were the trees and the sand dune. Isthia proposed we jump to get a better view. The added angle offered a better description. A fallen palm tree ran parallel to the sand dune and the flat section hosted protruding pink rocks and assorted flotsam from the hurricane. In the end she did all the work. The man, if he was still on the island, took no notice of her leaping. He was either asleep or dead. Either way I enjoyed a mild sensation of triumph.

Once the sun rose and the schools of fish began to cluster, Isthia agreed to come with me to get food. Working as a team offered a larger bounty than while alone. The rewards of fishing alone often brought frustration and wasted energy. While charging a school, the fish would simply separate and regroup into smaller, less dense clusters. But with the help of another, the schools remained tight and dense and charging the mass was a guaranteed one or two fish. We were fortunate, yet mildly disappointed, to discover a massive school of sardines some forty miles from the island. Dolphins from all directions (and seagulls from above) picked off the prime morsels long before we'd arrived. We whistled our names and the dolphins were eager to accept us. Food during the hurricane was nonexistent and they understood as well as anybody that we were all famished. The more dolphins available to herd the school, the better; and those not needed in the herding process took turns chasing the seagulls away.

Once the school had dwindled to nothing, I nuzzled another male and whistled my name. He returned the gesture and, newly acquainted with Adel, began discussing the hurricane while we swam in wide circles around the pod.

"I heard that on the other side of land, storms do not exist. Our pod is over forty, and we're all moving that direction. How large is your pod?"

I felt myself blushing, figuratively. "It's only me and my mate."

He stared at me for a brief moment. "What did you to do get the both of you banished?"

"Oh, we weren't banished. We left on our own." Dolphins consider banishment a more regular and acceptable means of loneliness than choosing to leave. As pods are far safer and healthier than lone dolphins, it's considered insulting to willingly abandon the pod. "Our alpha male had some Daddy issues and lost his mind, so-"

"Well, that's not important," he cut me short, confused and mildly suspicious. "You and your mate... is that?" He whistled her name. I nodded, as she was busy chasing and playing with a juvenile.

"She's pregnant. We're expecting the baby in about one month." This wasn't exactly what I'd said, as most wild dolphins do not understand the concept of months and years.

Adel's eyes studied me. "My friend, do you mean you've started a new pod with only a medium sized alpha male and a pregnant female?"

I wasn't particularly insulted. Wild dolphins often use size and skills to describe another (small, medium, fast, male/female). While being called small or medium sized isn't insulting, I didn't care for what he was insinuating. "Well no, we're not a proper pod. We get along fine without the help of others. I mean, we survived in an underwater grotto during the entire hurricane!"

He slowed down his pace, and I did the same. "I can't understand you, Gregory. You were lucky to survive this far by yourselves but you are adults. How can you protect a calf without the help of others?"

This put a spin on me. It was something I hadn't even considered. Sure, Isthia's a terrific fighter and a skilled swimmer, and my eyesight wasn't terrible. But sharks would see our daughter as an easy target. She would be little, slow, unable to fight and not too experienced with sharks. Even with the protection of one of us and the other fighting, her survival would be unlikely. And that's just counting for one shark.

Adel noticed my sudden realization, "Look, my friend. You're a young dolphin and I can tell you do not have the skills to be an alpha."

Again, I wasn't particularly insulted. He was being honest, despite misunderstanding my intentions.

"You were an excellent fisher and my pod was pleased to have you and Isthia's help. I happen to be the alpha. Come with us around to the other side of the land. While you're with us you'll be safe, and your calf will be safe. And, might I add, for every male there are over five females."

Now I was insulted. The males of pods took pride in their sizes, but the real honor was the amount of females. My dolphin mind demanded I not pass such a good proportion up, and even my genital slit swelled at the idea. But Isthia...I couldn't see myself with anyone except her. In our old pod she was the only dolphin I mated with. Even she was a bit surprised at my monogamy at first; when I turned down a pink-bellied female rubbing against me, Isthia thought I was ill. But soon she became used to the idea. My dolphin mind countered by chiding me, and a nagging voice in my head told me this is why I can never be a real dolphin. Mates are mates, but sex is sex and who cares who it is with?

"Thank you. Your pod is wonderful and I would love to join you. But, well...Isthia doesn't want to leave the gulf."

He warbled loudly, a gesture similar to laughing. "Not leave the gulf! After that last hurricane!"

I found myself warbling too. He did make her will to stay seem greatly illogical. "No, we just have something we need to take care of."

He trilled inquisitively, and I continued, "You see, when the hurricane died down at first, we went out to feed. It turns out there was a man on a boat-"

"A man on the boat!" Again with the warbling. "Was he trying to sink?"

"No, I don't think so," I lied, "But she decided to save him. We pushed him onto an island a few miles away thinking it was the shore. She's worried he might not get rescued."

The male stared at me for a moment. "But....he's on land. Isn't he safe?"

Now it was my turn to warble. Adel snapped his teeth aggressively. "I'm sorry I'm not laughing at you. It's just that I told her the same thing. She just wants to make sure he isn't still on the island. Frankly, I hope he died when the hurricane picked up."

He chirped a few times. "So we agree, my friend."

Around this time, Isthia approached us and nuzzled the male as well. Her eager movements made my heart sink. So with a few goodbyes and playful nips, we ventured back to the island. I decided not to mention what Adel said to Isthia. Her preoccupation with the, 'coast guard' was stressing her out enough already.

****

It was mid-afternoon when we reached the island. We slowed our pace about a mile away so Isthia, keen as ever, could jump to catch a glimpse of the island. After five or six jumps she returned with incontrovertible news that was relieving and equally disheartening.

"There's a man on that island."

The overall shock was minor. I knew the likelihood of his rescue so soon after the sinking was slim. He was an ordinary man with a boat. However rich or poor the man was, he couldn't have those high-tech tracking devices on a boat that size. I saw no extra antennas, no special communication systems. Still, the confirmation he was still alive damaged my underlying hope of a quick departure.

"Are you sure?"

"Am I su...? Gregory, I saw him. He's moving around on the island trying to build something. There's no mistake." Her relief was as apparent as mine was. Despite the success of actually saving his life, her tone showed no triumph. Until the man was in a boat or helicopter, she could not relax.

"I don't understand...you said they'd have him picked up by now. It's been over a day."

If this was the best time to be honest with her, I missed it, "They're probably looking for him right now."

"I sure hope so," she replied at length, diving deeper.

For a few hours we passed the time in silence. An odd sensation of discomfort hung heavily in the dying afternoon. We swam along the coast of the island a quarter mile out, each in our respective mindsets. Isthia calculating the time and distance, peering at the sky regularly...Me, struggling to fill in the cracks of my story in case Isthia's curiosity turned verbal.

What was puzzling, albeit fortunate, was that Isthia appeared to be avoiding the man on the island. Her history of affection towards humans was concrete, something I knew all too well. She risked our lives to save his, and postponed our migration eastwards to ensure his survival. Yet, the second his whereabouts were confirmed she broke character. My first thought was she'd swim as close as possible and raise a ruckus just to get his attention. I assumed she wanted to get acquainted with him and be positive he wasn't slowly dying on that pile of sand. But this wasn't the case. Often times she'd dart away from the shore, doubling-back to return to my side entirely unprovoked. She turned herself upside down while swimming to catch a better view of the sky. And yet she never once spy-hopped, leaped or move closer to the shallows for optimum vision. She just stared at the sky, engrossed with some running commentary gradually reaching its climax.

Almost no time had passed before it was too dark to see. We relied on our hearing and echolocation at this point, despite knowing the shape of the island by heart. Along the sand dune side it was a straight shot. At its distal point from the man (Isthia mentioned a crude lean-to at the trunk of the fallen tree) the island bowed into the sea, creating a crescent shape. On the opposite end, the lean-to's proximal point, the island abruptly cut into a tip. The island had an irregular shape to it, half a tear-drop and half a D shape. I couldn't help marveling at how well it stood up to pounding waves on every side. The thought of it being formed on a "dormant" volcano vent was thrilling, but unlikely. Still, I passed time imagining a blast of molten rock from the belly of the earth.

At Isthia's insistence we stayed near the island, breaking occasionally to take turns looking for food. With minimum conversation we spent the night laboriously circling the isolated patch of land. Lights from overhead airplanes blinked between stars to catch up lost time from the hurricane. Isthia swam on her side, studiously tracking their flight paths. With every false alarm she would right herself and continue swimming, gradually losing speed throughout the night. Colored lights in the sky were all the same to her, and by the time sunlight broke the horizon her head bowed and her tail hardly moved.

She did not deserve this anxiety...not pregnant, not ever. Her dwindling spirit recalled our time in the grotto; the obligation to save this man had become a new captivity. Oceans and seas were at her disposal, yet she could visit none of them until that man was returned to shore alive.

"Gregory." A hum at my side, dull and distant.

"What is it, Isthia?"

"If I can't even save a worthless man, I shouldn't be trusted to raise our daughter."

"Don't say that! Isthia, what is wrong with you?"

She clicked dismissively.

"Isthia, you'll be a wonderful mother. It hurts you'd even consider thinking that!"

She looked up at me, her eyes ancient and glossy. "He's dying, Gregory. All that work and sacrifice we've put into him, all the stress I've made us endure, and he's going to die. It's a hopeless case. Maybe we should just leave him here."

Much to my surprise, this idea didn't please me. "No. If we've gone through all this trouble it'd be stupid to give up now."

She turned away, scanning the early morning sky. "They know he's here, Gregory. They know exactly where he is, but they've given up on him sooner than we have."

For the sake of consoling her, I began contradicting myself. "We can't just leave him, though. Even if they've given up looking for him, we can't just leave him to die. Maybe their resources are limited due to the storm. Maybe they're not aware he's sunk yet. The best we can do is keep him alive until they send out a search party."

Her desperation erupted and she screamed, "He'll be dead then! He won't live that long! WHY did I think he was even WORTH it?!?" Silent trills followed her outburst. In my mind's eye, tears were rolling from her bulging, hopeless eyes. "He's suffered because of me. I knew he was dead the second we heard him shouting. And I was stupid enough to think we could HELP him. Why didn't I know where we were? Why didn't I push him in the right direction?"

I moved closer, tilting my stomach towards her so I could look directly at her. "You only wanted to help him. What's the harm in that? I gave up on him before he'd even hit the water. You valued his life, and you still need to! Don't think his survival has anything to do with our daughter. If he's going to die, it's over things you can't even control- he'll starve, he'll die of thirst, he'll burn up. But none of that has happened!"

"It will, though. He's been on the sandbar for two days. It's going to kill him."

"It MAY kill him. But just because he hasn't been rescued doesn't mean he won't be. A tiny area of space to us is days of searching for them! Trust me- to them, five miles from the sinking location is a good distance."

She stayed silent. My eyes rolled down the shape of her body, down by the increased mass of her underbelly. Our daughter...she needed a pod for protection. Until then, she needed the tenacity of her mother to keep her safe. But how could Isthia's confidence be restored? I implanted an idea in her head too perfect, too unlikely, that she viewed delayed response as failure. The fact it tore her up that this man was still in the ocean only proved she is a true caregiver. But how could I make her see that?

"Do you remember when I first met you?" I asked. "I don't mean the first time I saw you. I mean, the first time we spoke to each other."

A trill was the closest thing to acknowledgment I received. "I insulted you. I tried to say you ruined my entire life. Here I was in the ocean for the first time in my life, and you didn't even give me the chance to do something stupid. I couldn't even swim. I was helpless, like a calf," I nuzzled into her side. "But you took care of me. You taught me how to act, how to swim, how to speak."

I allowed my speed to decrease, tracing down the side of her body with my rostrum. It touched the leathery, whitened skin near her pelvis, "And you saved my life. You wouldn't have a mate, a daughter, a man on the beach if you weren't the perfect caregiver, Isthia."

The muscles in her tail began flexing less and less. My rostrum traced back along the side of her body as she slowed herself down. I extended my pectoral that met with hers, locking me in place. Her eyes seemed to focus on me, relaxed and half-lidded, no longer glossy. For the first time in hours, I truly felt she could see me.

"You're right, Gregory...You're absolutely right. I don't know what I was-"

I hummed my rostrum against her, cutting her short. "Don't worry about that. Just remember how wonderful you truly are."

A small spark shown in her eyes as she stared into mine. Gingerly, I opened my mouth and nibbled onto hers. She returned the gesture, trilling as soft as rain.

****

We both took turns throughout the night watching the island and going out for food. In reality, my time watching the island was mainly spent looking for food. My feelings towards that man's well-being were just as callous as before. Sure, I defended saving him earlier, but that was for Isthia's sake and not his. The thought of wasting our time and energy watching for boats and helicopters grew increasingly unbearable. Why not just leave? Whether or not the man survived wasn't our responsibility, but Isthia seemed to think so. I assumed it was her natural maternal instincts enhanced by the hormonal changes of her late pregnancy.

The words of that pod's alpha male Adel reverberated in my thoughts. His question had no bite or incentive to stir up fear, but that only increased the gravity of it. Here he was, a wild dolphin overlooking forty-plus others. He understood the dangers of the ocean and the importance of community. My admittance to deserting the original pod with a pregnant female must've sounded ludicrous- suicidal, even. It's not that he judged our actions, he simply didn't understand them. They were an open ocean pod likely to see three humans a year. Isthia stayed in the shallows and watched humans from a distance, and my case goes without saying. We weren't as adapted to shark attacks and pod raids as they were, so our blatantly optimistic outlook on the situation confused him. If only Isthia would've heard him. She would side with me that loitering by an island only made us easy targets to stalk and kill. She'd understand why I wanted so badly to leave. Despite my cold feelings for the dying man I realized fear of attack motivated my urge to leave.

By morning, the empty seas and skies broadcasted no hopes for rescue. When Isthia took another look at the man, she seemed more concerned than usual.

"He's just lying there by the water. He's not moving and he's badly burnt. Maybe he's sick."

Or dead, I anticipated adding. Wisely, I kept my word.

"I can't stand this. If he can't take care of himself, maybe we should."

"How? Do you want me to beg for medicine along the coast?"

She ignored my sardonic response. "He must be hungry. Gregory, bring back two fishes."

I stared at her. "What are you planning?"

"I'm planning to feed him, Gregory. If he's made it this far without dying there must be water available. But I haven't seen anything food-wise near him. Don't worry, it's just until he's rescued. It shouldn't be more than a day or two."

I snapped my jaws, a sting from my loose tooth helped to keep me calm. "But how is he going to eat them? People can't eat raw fish."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she countered, "He just needs something to eat. Now go find two fishes."

With heavy spirit and a firm jaw-snapping from Isthia, I set out to find the man fish. What good was it? He wasn't going to eat them raw unless it was close to life and death. And by the time that rolled around those fish would be putrid and inedible.

An hour later I returned, as promised, with two fish. Isthia was not amused.

"Why are you doing this, Gregory?"

"You said two fish," I replied, "So, I brought you two." The anchovies hung lifeless from my teeth.

She bumped my melon hard enough that all I could see was the night sky. A tad dizzy, I noticed the anchovies had been snatched from my mouth. Isthia, rigid and grumbling, made her way to the shore with the limp fish trailing like windsocks. I consciously stayed a few paces behind her.

As the sand's grade increased sharply to reach the surface, Isthia slowed her pace and sky hopped. From below I heard a piercing whistle and noticed her head snap towards shore. She rolled onto her side, one eye in the water and the other staring at the fishes. A few moments passed before she submerged and looked at me.

"I'm going to watch for him. Go out a few yards and start jumping. And be loud- we need to get him to the shore."

My patience diminished with each request. I imagined jumping out of the water and landing on the man's shelter to crush him instantly. Reluctantly I pushed out a short distance and began leaping from the water, coughing sheepishly seconds before I submerged. While Isthia watched the shore I kept an eye on surrounding ocean for any signs of life. My fear of a shark attack had yet to subside, yet my concern became that of prying eyes. I'd be damned if some seagull or other dolphin saw me acting as foolish as I was.

As I prepared for another jump, Isthia called out for me to stop. Above the waves, a dark figure appeared. It wiggled and distorted through the water like an unadjusted TV set. Secretly hating myself, I crept forward in sheer curiosity. Minus his free five-mile ride and Isthia's glimpses of his surroundings, neither of us had seen this man up close. This blurry, shadowed enigma approached the shore with a heavy gait, rocking to and fro with full weight on every alternating step. Isthia kept her eye out of the water and I, hypnotized by his swaying presence, poked both of mine out entirely. He rolled over across the flat stretch of sand like an approaching storm, lumbering and majestic at the same time. With every step his stature ascended, and by the time we could get a good look at him he appeared taller than ten feet.

His most distinguishing characteristic was the ribbons of bright red skin forming beneath the forests of hairs on his flabby arms. The redness traced up his broad, rounded shoulders and down in peculiar patterns on his sagging, hairy trunk. Legs reflected years of greasy meals and beef, bowing out slightly at the knees concealed under layers of blubber. The black nylon pants he wore to his estimated grave were torn carefully above each hypothetical knee. His feet were composed of hair, sand, and burnt skin but little else. He squatted down and inspected the fish inquisitively, and then noticed the two faces staring at him, connected to bodies concealed by the murk of the ocean. His ballooned out at the cheeks, both of which were redder than anything else. His chins were lined in saplings of hair pushing out from their follicle. Hair the color of wet sand collected above his ears, while the top challenged the sun's fury. Two dark brown eyes, squinting in the light of the sun, showed a mixture of environmental delirium and contextual confusion.

I saw him wet his cracked lips, yielding little hope for improvement, and then he spoke. "Did you two do this?" His voice spoke through a sieve of dry, acrid air and sand. Its high pitch couldn't disguise the thick regional accent one could expect.

Isthia whispered, "What did he just say?"

I couldn't break my gaze from the man. It was an intoxicating feeling. Here he was, all of our hard work and sacrifice, his face a few feet from my teeth, threatening to be removed. My blood boiled in with fear and aggression. I imagined him growing a dorsal fin to complement his dark, tiny eyes. Half-digested anchovies pushed upwards from my stomach, begging to be expelled. His life was in our hands, shaking, delirious, vulnerable; it begged a swift end to its suffering. His flabby, distended flesh a morsel fit to feed a hundred-

"GREGORY! What did he just say?"

I broke my gaze and submerged. Huh. That was weird.

"He asked us if we were the ones who gave him the fish."

Isthia gave a short glance my direction, detecting a peculiar secrecy in my tone. Dismissing that, she immediately spy-hopped and opened her mouth. I could see the man above the water, blinking and staring at Isthia, too weak to even take in the situation. My cape broke the surface to breath, and instantly I felt his eyes back on me. The fish lay at his feet, cooking and decomposing in the sun, thankless efforts soon to be wasted. His voice broke through the waves effortlessly, landing like napalm strikes upon my ears.

"You...it was you two, wasn't it?" His swollen eyeballs marveled between the fish, the dark gullet of my mate, and my cursed dorsal fin breaking the waves. Within his thoughts contorted and soggy pieces of recent memories slowly joined into a singular, linear phenomenon. He wheezed through the sieve in his throat, past pale creased lips. His shoulders fell suddenly, as though some ghostly weight he struggled to support vanished. Tears welled up in his bright red, salted eyes. We were mere creatures, yet he saw so much more. Cautiously he extended a splayed hand my direction, wistful to prove our appearance was genuine.

Instantly I ducked as far as possible, scarping my stomach upon the sand below. With a vigorous twist I turned sea-ward and bolted. Isthia was soon behind me and she appeared to have caught the man's confusion.

"Gregory? What's wrong with you? Why are you leaving?"

I attempted no answer. There wasn't one readily available.

"Gregory! I asked you a question. He only wanted to see us better. Why are you running?"

For God's sake, man, tell her the truth!

"I don't like him, Isthia."

She made a low, gritty sound. Apparently I missed her question.

"There's nothing to hate about him. It's not like he'll hurt us, he knows we saved his life!"

Refusing to look her way I replied, "I don't care. I just don't like him. His face, his voice, that odd feeling he gives off....no, I'm finished, I am going to the open sea."

A hard thwack hit my side, momentarily knocking me off course.

"You can't DO that! You convinced me he was worth saving. I'm not going to leave him behind!"

"Good...Because I am."

Her bobbing rostrum disappeared from my sight. "You...you're leaving me too?"

The question pierced every inch and orifice of my body. I continued, "I guess so."

There was a moment of silence. It enveloped our voices, the wake we left in our path, the breeze above and tremors below. My tail stopped swimming to listen, scanning the ocean for audio. Not a fish stirred, not a wave crashed, no far off sonar or whale songs. In that total stillness, the words echoed in my head. A jolt of pain from a tooth, uprooted from a rock a year ago, shot through my brain and down my spine.

The first noise I heard was Isthia. Who would've guessed otherwise? The slow sucking sound of displaced saltwater, the subtle puff of air above the sea, her inner speech audible only in such moments of mute sensations. The tip of her rostrum broke my line of sight, and suddenly the ocean's bustle sprang back to life.

"Gregory..." her words dripped with hurt, "How could you say that?"

My mind failed me. Again, answers eluding myself and her. I stared forward, paralyzed, crumbling under such unbearable weight.

"I don't know." It was the mantra of the day.

"You're my mate; you're the father of our child. How could you even think of leaving me behind?"

The alpha's words reverberated within my mind.

"Isthia....I'm sorry. You know you mean everything to me. I-I..." My voice trailed off. I had no more air to speak with. Or had I run out of explanations?

She adjusted her body to fit within my line of sight. Her wounded black eyes studied mine. But she could no longer see me. We were worlds apart. I promptly shut them.

"Gregory...you feel threatened by the man?"

No air. No response. Instinctively I nodded. The message came across clearly.

"He won't hurt us. I promise you he won't. There is no reason to leave him. After everything we've been through, I won't leave him..." My eyes were shut, but I knew what happened. Her statement had been the grounding force to make a connection, and suddenly she saw within me the threat I couldn't face.

"Gregory...you're jealous. You're jealous because I'm taking care of a human, just like I did for you."

The onrush of memories, my humanity, could not break through. It took every bit of strength to force them into oblivion where they belonged. My blowhole clenched, begging for air to aid the struggle. Oh my God, she was right. This couldn't be my body. This wasn't my brain. This isn't my voice you're reading this in. I'm cracking up, oh God, help me!

"Do you really believe that?"

YES! Oh yes, I do! I was human again, crushed between two boards as they loaded rocks on top. I cackled, more weight!'

"I...That's not why I'm taking care of him, Gregory; you know that."

Oh, I do! I do! Say it again, I beg you! Say it again! My mind won't listen!

"You shouldn't be threatened by that man."

No, no! Don't fight it, Isthia! Don't fight my brain!

"You don't even know him."

The maternal squeeze loosens and the water disappears. The phantom office springs up around the tortured clown sitting on mushy, clammy palms. The acrid smells, the dryness of the air...and there she is. The shaded woman with foreign tongues, squatting by my side, staring at me past her glasses and into my psyche. Her face encompasses my eyesight. I catch a hint of ambergris as she repeats, "You don't even know him."

I burst past this memory, past the wrap of the ocean surface. My dorsal fin, my cape, my blow-hole. I released the stale air within me, sucking in the savory gasp of wind and renewal. That inner voice, my humanity, the memories I tolerate, all silenced and brooding in the root of my dislodged tooth, my awareness of the sting fading. My limp body dips below the waves, down to my motionless mate radiating hurt and indignation.

"Isthia, this man is not a threat." Her expression befuddled, I repeat, "He is no threat." Thus the new mantra is born. She ceases to see the situation, merely me. Our worlds have regrouped, stitched themselves, yet dared not look back into those dark and foreign eyes. "And I will stay with you- my mate, my soul, my everything, until this man is back on land."

She blinked, her eyes subtly trembling. The radiance of absolution, of relief, of the failed retention of these past few moments, spread across her face. Tropical sunlight peered down upon us, accenting our silver and grey faces with beams of golden light. Our spectacle was over. The sea returned to is average cycle. I looked Isthia in the eyes and her into mine. Our blowholes locked in place, unable to spew any words superior to the things we silently told one another.

We swam around each other. Gentle nips here and there, a brush along this side and that, a twist above or a twirl below. Pokes and bumps replaced any moment the other was out of the line of sight. And as we continued our play, the island grew before us, a benevolent rise of the sea floor, and the connection of two worlds into one.