…Cold black waters surge around her; her strong body flexes and ripples. So good here. Her arms move in short arcs. She tastes the water; the others have fled, moving away from land. Whistles and clicks echo through the water and she understands. Trouble comes. Follow. The sweetness of swimming free, racing, turning, diving in vast waters tingles along her spine. Her muscles stretch, strong, rhythmic. So good.
Pain! She bumps against webbing, hard, ropey. Like strings of intertwined kelp.
Fear courses through her. Away, get away.
The net surrounds her. Panic whirls like hurricane winds.
She struggles. Struggles.
Can’t break through. She redoubles her efforts.
She flees downward, then up, then back, faster and faster, desperate to find a way out.
She twists, bucks, dives, but the webbing tightens.
The kelp becomes bars.
A tight little box encloses her. A coffin. She can’t move, can't swim. It is as if she is dead.
Then the water becomes mud and the mud dries.
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