I wake to sunlight and the birds, again, leaving. They are heading to a circle of fish flopping near the surface. Once my eyes have adjusted to what they always used to do, I see birds swooping down, into the water, shooting back out, swallowing and going again with gusto. I am ravenous; the few mouthfuls of fish I scrounged yesterday did not go far. I am not accustomed to skipping provision. I want something oily and soon. I have enough energy from the long deep-sleep to not wait for what the birds drop. I watch the birds and I see how easily they get fish. I am convinced I can get a fish. If these mindless birds can get so many so easily, I am smart enough to get one.

I stride into the water, slide under and head to the sound of commotion. A weird wistful whining punctuated by clicks permeates the rumble and thud of fishing birds. The smell of fear crescendos as I approach. A deafening roar of disturbance fills the water almost drowning out the not-quite-whistling. From the murkiness comes a bright wall of bubbles, released somewhere far below. Inside there are thousands of fish flicking back and forth. The glinting is almost overpoweringly bright. I just need to break through the bubbles. I am sure I can do it. I have swum through the hot column in den and that’s bubbly.

I surface to have the most air I can. The tumult of bubbles and screeing is replaced with the screaming and squabbling of birds. I take two long deep breaths, then take a huge lungful and force myself back under the surface. I swim down and then swim as hard as I can into the wall of bubbles. My ears are bitten by the pressure of sound for a heartbeat. I am shaken by the sudden contrast of quiet inside the bubble circle into which the mournful cry expands. The comparative silence is filled with the terror in every water molecule. I strike into the mass of fish and get a mouthful of water. After more than a littersworth^ of attempts, I get a fish and the water fills with its blood. Thank you, Soil. I hope They will pass it on to whomever is responsible for my acquiring provision.

I snap again. And again. And again. And again. I get another one. I snap to Rise and Set. I catch one but it swims away trailing a trickle of expanding blood. I snap in frustration and get another fish. I am getting disoriented. The pressure of chirruping and clicking is beginning to hurt my ears and my mind. Something about it feel familiar, like an enormous dog was talking somewhere far away. Is Big-saltwater trying to talk to me? I am full of adrenaline and nearing time to breathe. I think I will leave it there. I will surface. The birds are darting in like slung-stones and shooting back out again. They rain down into the water all around me. I break the surface and the eerie keening is replaced, once again, by the racket of birds fishing. I pant, feeling pleased with myself. I can survive out here if necessary. I will strike out next. If by zenith, I’m not sure when I will reach den-land, I will return to the land-spot for another night. I can always fish again!

I decide to paddle out of the bubble-circle on the surface rather than experience that assault again. I set off towards the land-spot. I feel a huge shift in the water below me as all the birds take flight. The bubble-circle widens. I am pushed outwards. I am pushed towards the land-spot. A second wave hits me with more force. Suddenly, the biggest thing I have witnessed (bigger than the land-spot) breaks the surface and keeps unfurling. It ejects a spray of salty water all over me. I am flipped over. I tumble. I try to swim down, away from the churning surface. I float for a moment, going nowhere, then I am pulled down. The pull lessens as I sink.

I swim below the surface towards the land-spot. There is a percussive sound that makes me wish I was Walking into the Wilderness. Maybe I am. What a strange Wilderness. The water shifts again, and I am rushing to the shore of the land-spot. I get rolled up onto the pebbles, covered in sand and detritus.

I lie there panting, trying to understand what happened. I observe an enormous rock burst forth from the water 3 or 4 more times. Each time, the living-rocks are accompanied by a squirt of water and a crashing return to the water. Maybe these are hatched Soil-Sentinels^; those impassive stones unfurl and swim and fly out of the water and eat fish. Maybe this is what they get to be if they serve Pack by warning them of the dangers of the water nearby.

Then the water calms. Birds start to return, picking off dead fish from the surface. They return to the trees on my land-spot. It seems like they are gloating at their skill over my much smaller reward for far more effort.

I will set off immediately. I am convinced there is the smell of tall trees to Rise. I slide under the surface of the water like I am releasing to deep-sleep. I swim rapidly, paranoid huge stones will burst out of the water, spraying foam and salt over me.

After the first two breathing stops (I take them frequently to check my course), I settled into a rhythm. I swim under the surface, comfortably and efficiently dipping above the surface like a bird flying along the tree line. I am beginning to enjoy my new body without having to travel at speed or be observed. I start to swirl through the water like I’ve seen the otters do. The youngest is very playful and she flips and turns in the water. It makes Soil Parent scent delight. I am still making progress, but it is enjoyable to do so. I no longer fear getting back. I will, today.

I can’t wait to demonstrate this spiralling technique for Soil Parent. I catch a hint of musk. Otters! My otters! Straight ahead, getting stronger fast. I swim furiously. Twists and turns are forgotten. No surfacing, just swimming. I am straining to smell and hear them. The smell gets stronger. I am going the right way. But moving water baffles the nose. Where are they? I am getting close to needing to surface. I hear chittering and the floomp of their legs against water. Finally. I can’t get any faster, but I know I will get to them soon. I start to spin and dip again as I surface with a more certain heading. I am going den!

I can finally see them. They dart all around me. All three pee. We then start to play, and dart round each other. I feel like one of them. I have learnt to swim a little more like a creature of this medium and less like a land-dog. I guess, I am not a land-dog anymore.

We start edging back in the direction they came from. Out of the dim mists, I smell Dark Provider. He smells stressed; the stench of cortisol^ almost masks his familiar scent. Soon enough, he emerges from the grey, whooshing at speed. He is darker than usual and speeds over to me. He puts his mouth-tails all round me. He is checking me. As he finds I am unhurt, he fades in hue and the cortisol stops rolling off him.

He has brought a water-vine; he floats one end by my face. I grab it eagerly. Once it is fixed in my teeth, he jets off fast in the direction from which they all came. The speed he can manage dragging me, is far faster than I can manage even in Service as a water-dog. The otters dart and glide around us. He’s not quite as fast as Soil Parent. The exhilaration of travelling with my mixed-pack at speed to den, washes over me, creeping into my bones and making me wag.

I haven’t even needed to breath yet and we are back to the water-forest. He slows as the forest comes up out of the dark and becomes the floor. He releases the water-vine, letting me and the otters frolic from the surface down to the forest canopy. We look at the animals that live there. The otters are dislodging both stones and the stone-eggs they eat. They take them both to the surface and use the stones to break the hard, sometimes spikey, eggs open. I guess they are a kind of smart; they can use basic tools.

My stomach is growling despite my three fish earlier. I swim over to Dark Provider, who is resting under a rock jutting from the canopy. I push my nose against his tail-mouth and send him as strong a message as I can. I send him my gratitude, that I know we are Pack but that I am really quite hungry. Around his huge eyes, his skin lightens. He returns Pack and the promise of provision soon. He releases a signal, and we set off at an easy pace, back to den.

By the time we arrive, there is one of Dark Provider’s Service-pack waiting with a different piece of fishy provision in each mouth-tail. We enter Pack Guider’s^ still-empty chamber. I barely hesitate to consider this; it’s been too big a few days for that right now. I head up to the surface and my own den with the otters. Dark Provider and his assistant place all the different items in the provisioning-spot. I wolf down several items without stopping to taste, then start to gnaw on a salt-snake. The assistant leaves immediately but Dark Provider stays until I have eaten. Once I have groomed and realise I could have a nap, he approaches me and puts his tail-mouth on my nose. He sends me Pack and I am falling asleep.