Eagre floated in the crystal-clear shallows, his body submerged just up to his glowing emerald eyes, treading water with slow, methodical sweeps of his tail.
He had spent the entire morning conducting a rigorous, highly logical internal audit of his divine motivations.
He was not coming back to the beach because he cared about the human.
Absolutely not.
He wan an ancient apex predator, an ancient aquatic terro, and a master of marine strategy.
Predators simply kept tabs on their prey.
It was basic ecological viligiance!
He was merely inspecting the shoreline to ensure that the sun-baked land-pest hadn’t succumbed to sunstroke or been carried off by a giant sea-eagle before he could properly claim his divine vengeance.
Satisfied with his ironclad, undeniable logic, Eagre slowly raise his head above the gentle surf, wiping a streak of saltwater from his scaled forehead.
“Time to see what ridiculous ordeal she had brought upon herself today,” Eagre muttered under his breath, his ear-fins twitching as he prepared himself for screaming, stick-building disasters, or another wave of delusional high-society speeches.
Instead, he was met with a scene so profoundly, catastrophically bizzare that his brain briefly ceased all higher cognitive functions.
Fifty yards up the shore, sitting at a makeshift flat-stone table right in front of the giant pearl shrine, sat Saira and Crabby.
Saira was dressed in a dripping wet, oversized black graphic hoodie beneath a sharp, waterlogged blazer, her frizzy hair exploding out from under her hoodie.
Perched squarely across the bridge of her sunburnt nose was a pair of dark, reflective plastic aviator sunglasses.
Sitting across from her on an overturned coconut shell was Crabby.
The little crustacean was also wearing a pair of miniature, surprisingly slick black sunglasses-clearly scavenged from the depths of Saira’s duffel bag and held precariously in place over his eye stalks with a tiny strip of dried kelp.
Tucked firmly into his right pincer was a tight, tiny rolll of dried palm frond, sticking straight out of his mouth like a high-roller’s unlit Cuban cigar.
Totally Saira’s idea for sure.
In his left claw, Crabby was holding a surprisingly neat fan of five plastic-coated poker cards.
“I see your three wild mangoes, Crabby,” Saira said, her voice dripping with cool, low-pitched intensity as she adjusted her aviators with a thumb and forefinger.
“And I raise you…two pristine white sea-pebbles and a half-eaten coconut shell.” She slid a small pile of pebbles and fruit into the center of the stone table.
Crabby didn’t flinch.
He didn’t even blink his hidden eye stalks beneath his dark lenses.
He slowly lowered his unlit palm-frond cigar, tapped it against the edge of the stone table like he was flicking ash into a crystal tray, and used his claw to push four heavy, polished sea-walnuts into the pot.
“A bold counter-move,” Saira murmured, her jaw setting into a tight, calculating line.
“The Keeper of the Shell plays hardball.” Eagre stood frozen in three feet of water, his mouth open so wide a confused minnow swam directly over his lower lip before darting away.
His luminous ear-fins flared wide, flickering in rapid, chaotic purple flashes as his glowing eyes darted from the baseball cap perched on top of the giant pearl to the tiny crab wearing a aviators and holding a fake cigar.
A tiny jellyfish floated by, paused as if judging the situation, then continued swimming their way.
“What…” Eagre breathed, his voice cracking violently as he took a slow, disbelieving step out of the surf onto the damp sand.
“What in the name of the abyssal trenches is happening here?!” Saira slowly turned her head toward the tide line, lowering her dark aviators just enough to peer at him over the rims with cool, unflappable confidence.
“Ah.
The groom returns.” Saira purred, resting her elbows on the flat stone table and lacing her fingers together.
“Just in time-salmon-boy.
Crabby and I are currently engaged in a high-stakes championship round of coastal poker to decide who owns the intellectual right to the new palace design.” “He is a CRAB!” Eagre shrieked, pointing a trembling, claw-tipped finger at the small crustacean.
“He is an armoured decapod!
Why is he holding cards?!
Why does he have a leaf in his mouth like a tavern gangster?!” “Director of Romantic Ambiance and High-Roller pit Boss,” Saira corrected smoothly, tapping the plastic case of loaded dice sitting next to the glowing pink pearl shrine.
“He has an extraordinary poker face, Eager.
Unreadable.
Ruthless.
He folded three hands ago on a pair of jacks just to lure me into a false sense of security.” Crabby slowly raised his left pincer, holding up his card hand-a flawless Royal Flush in spades-and clicked his right claw once against his palm-frond cigar with absolute, aristocratic swagger.
“Fold,” Saira grunted, tossing her cards onto the stone with a dramatic sigh.
“He gets me every time.” Eagre grabbed both sides of his head with his webbed hands, letting out a long, soundless scream toward the cloudless blue sky.
“You’ve lost your mind!” Eagre howled, his gills pumping with furious, violet-tinted panic as he stomped deeper onto the beach, his massive silver shimmering tail dragging behind him in the wet sand.
“The sun has boiled your fragile human brain!
You are sitting on a deserted island playing card games with seafood while wearing plastic eye-covers!” “They’re polarized UV protection, my dear sardine,” Saira said, sliding her sunglasses back up her nose with supreme elegance.
She reached into her pocket,pulled out a second pair of sleek black sunglasses, and tossed them across the sand, where they land right in front of Eagre.
“Sit down, take a hand, and let’s see if the Great Terror of Aethel has the courage to gamble against the High Priestess of the Clam-stone.” Eagre’s emerald eyes narrowed into dangerous, competitive razor-slits.
“I am an ancient god,” Eagre hissed underwater-guttural, his pride burning hotter than a volcanic vent.
“I do not gamble with land-pests.” He picked up the sunglasses.