The dixopus rears its head back and its red and orange flesh turns darker, almost black like oil.
“Well my sea dwelling sisters we haven’t sprung a leak,” Oli says with a shrug, “so struggle on, we’re nearly up to our ship.”
The water in the channel to the sea has white caps now. She bites her lower lip in concentration. In the light of the two moons she can see boulders to the port and starboard. “Stay be forward ye cranky dawdler!” she shouts out.