Light shone in Setka’s eyes as he stared out to sea. He swept his hand toward the horizon. “First Adviser, when I accepted this mission I knew there would be perils, but also wonders beyond imagining. Look. We are witnessing something magical.”
Hundreds of grey forms frothed the water, tails and fins gliding through the troughs. Plumes of water were expelled high into the air from blowholes. Then, as graceful as temple dancers, the creatures dived beneath the waves. Their second boat, Windsong, bobbed like a cork behind them and, though many passed nearby, none of the creatures collided with either hull.
One specimen surfaced between the two boats, close enough that if Setka had stretched out his sceptre, he could have touched it with the golden falcon head. A huge eye appraised him for several heartbeats and Setka held his breath before, with hardly a ripple, the creature descended into the depths.
A haunting sound filtered over the slap of the waves. Lord Weserkaf cocked his ear and whispered, “What spell do they weave?”
Prince Setka smiled, “I believe they’re singing to each other under the waves.”
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