Wheeling Gull Isle I've got crabs

ava macaroni watched in contemplative disbelief. the swarm moved as if under its own hidden imperial command — and a deep part of her felt compelled to give chase. 

judah did not seem scared; this buoyed the babe until she was abreast of them, eyeing them with a hunter’s mistrustful disdain. one scuttled over her paw and she lifted it instinctively above the swarm of bodies.

her brother rolled atop their carapaces. some disappeared into the sand, others squirmed and fought. ava took one step, then another — but the crabs seized her toes, then her flank, her hips, her ankles — she whipped from one side to the other in surprise, bright teeth snapping at each crab as pain from their pincers registered they’d laid siege to her puppy fat and were now spilling out of the trojan woodwork of the sand a thousand strong.