A day came when I grew too large for my sheltered pool. On that morning, I woke up feeling cold and made the rather disconcerting discovery that the tip of my dorsal fin was poking out above the water. When the wind blew through the crevices in the rocks and made little waves in my pool, they would lap over the fin, leaving it exposed to the cold morning air.
This bothered me for a number of reasons. For one thing, being out of the water for too long was highly uncomfortable. I had begun to dry out, and my dorsal fin was numb for days afterwards. Far more concerning was the idea that I now had to leave my sheltered pool. I had learned from past explorations with my friend that there were other pools, larger than my current one, but they were connected to the ocean and already inhabited.
Still, remaining in my current home was no longer an option. I continued to mull over the situation after I caught a small crab for breakfast. At last, I resolved to explore the closest pool and see it its inhabitants were tolerant of newcomers.
Keeping two eyes out for birds and the other three on the shore ahead, I dragged myself towards the rock pool. It was high tide by this point, so the distance was shorter, and the shimmering ocean seemed so close. Further down the coastline, fishing boats sailed out into the morning waves. I could see all the way to the horizon, but the world beneath the surface was hidden beneath dark water and reflective light.
A gull did catch site of me, but I was at the water by that point. I slipped in, swimming beneath some submerged rocks, and startled a larger fish. It eyed me warily, mouth opening to take in water, but it decided against a fight. From my new hiding place, I saw a school of small fish circling in the shallows. They were a dull green color, but in the sunlight, they shimmered. Suddenly, the school broke apart, fish darting in every direction. There was a splash, and a gull snapped up an unlucky slowpoke. Then the shadow passed, the sea dwellers came out of hiding, and all was back to normal.
Life in the shallows was run by a different set of rules than my old pool. For one thing, I now had neighbors, and I quickly began to update my view of the world based on my new experiences with them. Whereas previously, I had divided all creatures into terms of larger things that could kill me and smaller ones I could eat, I soon learned that there were exceptions to these rules. A small variety of red fish, for instance, was horribly poisonous, and plants could neither attack me nor provide nourishment, which lead me to envy omnivorous beings on a number of occasions. Learning these experiences cost me a good number of hungry days, especially in the beginning, but my good luck kept me alive and growing.
There was, of course, a fifth category in my schema: that of friends. The human girl remained the only being who fit into that group, but she remained in it faithfully. She would visit me less often, but much about our outings remained comfortably familiar. The cowardly crabs—I outranked all of them in size by this point—predictably scattered when we approached, and the gulls still screamed from a safe distance. The tide still rose and fell.
Sometimes, my friend would wade into the water, clothes and all, and swim with me. In this, I found some pride, for I was faster than she. Still, I would never stray too far from her and the protection she provided against the gulls and larger sea dwellers. Together we would venture out, often further than I would dare to go by myself in those early days, and play among the waves. We would dive and splash and revel in the joy of childhood.
One day while we were swimming together, a mischievous mood came upon my friend. In jest, she grabbed my tail and pulled me under the water. Instincts made me struggle out of her grasp and dart away. Trailed by her laughter, I silently circled back for revenge.
My friend treaded water, still giggling. I approached silently. When I was a mere few feet away, I put on a burst of speed and bit the back of her shirt, dragging her underneath the water with me. Panicking, she struggled and kicked, but I continued to pull her further under. She twisted around and tried to pry me off.
I believe that it was at that point that I realized the jest had gone too far. I let go and, gasping, my friend surfaced and made sure, steady strokes toward the shore. She did not stop until she had fully left the water. Coughing, she stood on the sand, still dripping wet. When she acknowledged me at last, her breath once again went unsteady. I pulled myself out of the water. Surely she did not appear injured? Surely I had not been the cause of her fear?
You may think me a fool, but until this point, I had believed that creatures of the land were vastly superior to creatures of the water. All of my aquatic neighbors—myself being the one exception—could not survive outside of the water, and they flopped helplessly for a few moments before going still. Meanwhile, beings such as the gulls and my friend could dive into the ocean, with no more warning than a shadow, and pluck up any creature they wanted. The thought that a bird could be drowned was foreign, but once it occurred to me, I could not stop wondering about it.
In the meantime, my friend could not stay angry at me. She sat down, watching the waves lap against the shore, an allowed me to rest beside her. The two of us remained there until the sun had set, drying off and getting sandy. I wish that I could say my mind was focused solely on the sunset and good company, but that would be a lie.