One day, Boulnayele, then but a young
bull, swam with his family, Everine the Dancer and her mate
Boulanoure the Scout of the tribe of Dorcane the Mighty. The whales were nearing the rich
waters of Broken Sea, Boulnayele exploring among frozen
islands when a spine of ice gashed his flank. Hanoloure the Healer was called and pronounced the wound more blood
than body, prescribing rest and slow swim, and it
would heal itself.
So it was that the tribe swam on, leaving Boulnayele to follow in their wake, though not before Everine admonished him send his call at each tide, that she might be assured of his safety. Boulanoure protested, with unseemly pride, surely no harm would befall his son, for had he not already mastered many of the skills of his sire? Boulnayele enjoyed his slow solitary swim, feeding from teeming life brought down to the sea by glaciers, resting in the lee of ice giants which hung below the surface in jagged spears. There he sheltered on a cold, still night when faint throbbing echoed and he sensed the approach of a large vessel. Manwhale.
His father had warned of their threat
and he remained alert, monitoring the ship's advance. There were several large bergs about but the ship maintained a steady
course, its beat undiminished.
Boulnayele scanned the vicinity and located a large floe on directly opposing track to the
manwhale
and he knew collision was inevitable
if it came on as it did. Surfacing, he sighted the ship. Bright lit, it bore down on the
converging iceberg. At last the ship appeared to check
its momentum and began to veer away from the berg, but too late.
Boulnayele felt the tremor of the glancing impact, heard a tearing sound, and the ship was mortally wounded. Stopped, it began to sink, and from its heights dropped tiny figures, some to cling at wreckage, others frantic in the deadly waters, a few in small boats which had survived the crash. The prow of the ship submerged. It broke apart, roared and steamed, and at last slipped away to the deep, leaving little sign of its passing. Drowning people quickly succumbed, food for sea creatures, and pathetic flotsam drifted.
Boulnayele swam on, remembering, when at gatherings of The Great Tribes, he had listened to stories of Man and his mastery of the seas, of swift vessels which reached all corners of every ocean, and the newer deepships that plumbed darkmost trenches. Yet, this night he had witnessed the demise of a giant manwhale, stricken by the lightest touch of a passing iceberg, just such a cut as he had sustained in his careless idling. He had much to learn.
