Sea Lion Shores the halls of our fathers

Super Ragna!

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Fierce joy swept through Szymon as Ragna made a kill of her own, water spraying from her nostrils as she broke surface in a manner that he could only describe inwardly as beautiful. Around his own kill he chuckled, a muffled rumble of congratulations that gurgled with the chop of saltwater. He swam to shore beside the blue-eyed girl, emerging from the Sea with a heavy splash as Her arms sucked demandingly at his sides. Then, still holding tightly onto his kill — old habits died hard, and no matter how much he trusted Ragna, he could not afford to set down his hard-won prize — he shook the fur from his pelt. It sharpened, as it always did, into a salt-tipped disarray of urchin-like spines. Settling down on his stomach in the sand where She could still lap at his heels and tail, he swiftly dispatched his fish. “C-Careful of the f-f-fins,” he warned Ragna, nodding toward the remains of his meal. The fins were sharp and razor-edged, with spines to hold their shape.

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They paddled back, each triumphant. The sharp spines of the fish's fins scraped at Ragna's gums until they bled, but the pain was negligible and she would not complain. When her feet hit the sandy bottom, Ragna began to hop over the water, wading into the shallows with splashing leaps. She hit the hard-packed sand where the waves lapped gently against the shore and sat, just as Szymon. With his warning in mind she, too, began to eat. And when their meals were finished and they parted ways, Ragna did so with the comfortable knowledge that she had made a true friend.