Gilded Bay echoes

there was something beautiful about the scene, despite the circumstances. the whale should have died peacefully in the depths of the ocean; instead, he was breathing his last here, on the shore. it was quietly macabre, little blood and no violence. . .why was there peace, here?

govinda padded up to the creature, flinching as a burst of spray emerged from the blowhole atop his head. he sniffed gently at the rounded nose, his muscles tensing with every slight movement the whale made. the massive eyes were open, dark, sad pools; he could see his reflection within, if he drew close enough. the gulls cried overhead, and he saw the silhouettes of carrion-feeders, lingering nearby.

his stomach rumbled, and he hated himself for it. to feed on this bull while it still lived and breathed. . . he had once been at death's door within the ocean, and had been spared. that sort of mercy looked unlikely for the whale, but the parallel still bothered him. he took a few steps back and sat on his haunches, watching him, waiting for him to expire.

it would be a long wait.