ready to serve their masters. Even Flinn knew that such talk was nonsense. He knew these beasts and had bonded with them. The only thing that kept the sharks inside was their fear of the stinging red coral.
Flinn approached the pen and carefully placed his hand through a small gap in the coral. Immediately, his favorite frilled shark swam to him and placed the center of her broad nose into his palm. Her body was at such an angle that she could regard Flinn with one of the small milky eyes on either side of her great snout. The sharks’ eyes always reminded him of merwin eyes.
Flinn did not fear the creature’s rows of barbed teeth; the ethyrie saw into the beast’s mind, knew that she was happy to see him and was hoping he had food for her. When he felt regret that he was not there to feed her, he could feel her disappointment. She allowed him to stroke her smooth skin as she swam away. Flinn did so, careful not to stick a finger into one of the seven frilled gills on either side of her neck, just in front of her pectoral fins. That tended to make the sharks angry.
Remembering his reason for coming to the pens in the first place, Flinn looked around for his aunt and mother. Not seeing them outside, he decided to look in the nearby stable, a small stone building with only two stalls where the shark trainers did much of their work. The stalls had hardened sharkskin tethers knotted securely around bone poles that were driven deep into the rocky seafloor. The straps were tied around the animal and held it in place, as a bit and saddle were fastened to the mount. They kept the trainers’ hands safely to the side of the sharks’ mouths.
Upon entering and s canning the building, Flinn saw no one on the main floor. He raised his gaze to the loft above, where the tackle was stored. An ethyrie was watching him from above. Fear gripped Flinn’s stomach for a brief moment, until he recognized the merwin as one of the shark trainers. However, before Flinn could call out a greeting, his stomach lurched and his head spun, as if it had been struck. Every nerve in his body screamed with… hunger , blind unbridled hunger.
Flinn felt the sharks’ turmoil before he heard the crash of their bodies breaking th rough the pen’s bone gate. The trainer’s head disappeared back into the loft, as the frilled sharks swarmed into the stables, headed straight for Flinn. He tried to send them soothing thoughts, as he did during training and when they were bridled, but something else demanded the sharks’ full attention. His girl, his favorite, bit into his side, ripping out a huge chunk of his torso and pelvis, right at the base of his main tail fin.
The sharks swarmed Flinn in a feeding frenzy, biting deeply into his pale flesh and mauve-colored fins. The water rapidly clouded with his blood, red tendrils streaking from the mouths of his friends . He managed to scream for a few short moments before the excruciating pain he felt came to an abrupt end, and he felt nothing. Flinn guessed that his spine had been severed after seeing a shark dart away with part of the back of his upper neck, his long burgundy hair trailing from its mouth.
Time seemed to slow down and Flinn was only vaguely aware of the sharks coming and going. He stared dully at a shredded pouch floating sluggishly across his darkening vision, along with some of his other ravaged belt pouches. The first bag struck him as odd. It was not his, and red blood still seeped from its interior. He finally recognized the pouch for what it was… a Culling bag. The strange taste in my mouth when I stopped, Flinn recalled. It was blood, he realized , and I trailed it right up to the shark pen. Flinn died, his body being torn apart and devoured by the animals he had loved, knowing that he had been betrayed.
Chapter Nine
The silence of the room made Marin want to scream; she hated waiting for someone else to make what should be her decisions. Although, deep down in her gut, she knew
Flinn approached the pen and carefully placed his hand through a small gap in the coral. Immediately, his favorite frilled shark swam to him and placed the center of her broad nose into his palm. Her body was at such an angle that she could regard Flinn with one of the small milky eyes on either side of her great snout. The sharks’ eyes always reminded him of merwin eyes.
Flinn did not fear the creature’s rows of barbed teeth; the ethyrie saw into the beast’s mind, knew that she was happy to see him and was hoping he had food for her. When he felt regret that he was not there to feed her, he could feel her disappointment. She allowed him to stroke her smooth skin as she swam away. Flinn did so, careful not to stick a finger into one of the seven frilled gills on either side of her neck, just in front of her pectoral fins. That tended to make the sharks angry.
Remembering his reason for coming to the pens in the first place, Flinn looked around for his aunt and mother. Not seeing them outside, he decided to look in the nearby stable, a small stone building with only two stalls where the shark trainers did much of their work. The stalls had hardened sharkskin tethers knotted securely around bone poles that were driven deep into the rocky seafloor. The straps were tied around the animal and held it in place, as a bit and saddle were fastened to the mount. They kept the trainers’ hands safely to the side of the sharks’ mouths.
Upon entering and s canning the building, Flinn saw no one on the main floor. He raised his gaze to the loft above, where the tackle was stored. An ethyrie was watching him from above. Fear gripped Flinn’s stomach for a brief moment, until he recognized the merwin as one of the shark trainers. However, before Flinn could call out a greeting, his stomach lurched and his head spun, as if it had been struck. Every nerve in his body screamed with… hunger , blind unbridled hunger.
Flinn felt the sharks’ turmoil before he heard the crash of their bodies breaking th rough the pen’s bone gate. The trainer’s head disappeared back into the loft, as the frilled sharks swarmed into the stables, headed straight for Flinn. He tried to send them soothing thoughts, as he did during training and when they were bridled, but something else demanded the sharks’ full attention. His girl, his favorite, bit into his side, ripping out a huge chunk of his torso and pelvis, right at the base of his main tail fin.
The sharks swarmed Flinn in a feeding frenzy, biting deeply into his pale flesh and mauve-colored fins. The water rapidly clouded with his blood, red tendrils streaking from the mouths of his friends . He managed to scream for a few short moments before the excruciating pain he felt came to an abrupt end, and he felt nothing. Flinn guessed that his spine had been severed after seeing a shark dart away with part of the back of his upper neck, his long burgundy hair trailing from its mouth.
Time seemed to slow down and Flinn was only vaguely aware of the sharks coming and going. He stared dully at a shredded pouch floating sluggishly across his darkening vision, along with some of his other ravaged belt pouches. The first bag struck him as odd. It was not his, and red blood still seeped from its interior. He finally recognized the pouch for what it was… a Culling bag. The strange taste in my mouth when I stopped, Flinn recalled. It was blood, he realized , and I trailed it right up to the shark pen. Flinn died, his body being torn apart and devoured by the animals he had loved, knowing that he had been betrayed.
Chapter Nine
The silence of the room made Marin want to scream; she hated waiting for someone else to make what should be her decisions. Although, deep down in her gut, she knew
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