Oystercatcher Tide Pools Midwest indigo.

The sea lion towed Towhee around Wheeling Gull’s curving eastern shore, as if it was heading for the open ocean. In truth, it intended to hang a left and slingshot around to its other side, then swim south for the shores where its brethren—including a hungry pup—numbered in the hundreds.

Long before any of that could happen—perhaps forty seconds after the sea lion and Towhee disappeared into the deeps—an orca came careening upward from the blue shadows below. Its nose slammed into the sea lion’s underbelly as it continued swimming upward. The impact knocked Towhee loose as the enormous killer whale and its prey broke the surface.

Already desperate for breath, Towhee instinctively kicked toward the surface herself. She was facing the wrong direction and missed the sight of the orca tossing the sea lion into the air, then grabbing it again and shaking it a bit like a dog might. Besides, she was too busy gasping for air and trying to stay afloat.

By the time she collected herself to assess her surroundings, a powerful riptide had swept her far away from both the island and the bloodied water where predator had become prey. Towhee could see the coastline in the distance and what she thought might be the island way off to her left.

She made a bid for shore, though she was quite weary from the ordeal and the current remained strong. It swept Towhee further and further down the seaboard until it finally relented. She washed up just past a forking delta, too exhausted to do much more than drag herself into the safety of the shallows before collapsing.