Dragons Beneath the Gulls

Isla Thorne squatted in the lee of the outpost’s battered shed, wind tugging at her oilskin hood as she tightened the strap on a battered binocular case. Across the shingle, a pair of seals bobbed in the surf, heads swiveling in unison. She scribbled notes on her clipboard, then glanced up at the gray swell. A distant drone of an outboard engine grew louder. Isla’s heart kicked up; no boats were scheduled today. She pulled her radio from her belt, thumbed it twice, and listened, static. Sighing, she ducked behind a clump of thrift, raising her binoculars just as the hulking shape of a dark boat nosed into the cove. She watched figures move aboard, heavy with gear. Overhead, a wedge of kittiwakes scattered, shrieking. Isla slid her boot deeper into the wet gravel, weighing her next move as the poachers began to lower something bulky over the side.

Isla pressed herself low against the damp earth behind the thrift, barely daring to breathe. She raised the binoculars, fixing on the dark boat. Three figures moved quickly on deck, lowering a large, netted cage toward the water. The hull was painted dark, marked by a faded symbol, a coiled serpent striking a stylized fish. The engine hummed steadily, its low thrumming vibrating through the air.

Isla Thorne carefully recorded the coiled serpent and stylized fish symbol in her field notebook, alongside notes on the three figures aboard the boat. She pulled the worn tide chart from her pocket, her brow knitting as she worked out how long before the cove’s waters would drop too low for the vessel to stay anchored. The boat’s engine thrummed steadily, a deep pulse beneath the gulls’ sharp cries.

Isla Thorne moved along the bluff’s edge, using the rise of the land to keep the dark boat out of sight. The wind tugged at her jacket, carrying the sharp scent of salt and damp earth. At the eastern bluff, she edged forward and peered down at the swirling water below. The tide was pulling back, exposing more jagged rock. Half-submerged in a tidal pool, the netted cage rested heavily, its contents blurred in the fading light. She squinted and caught it: a cluster of iridescent scales, faintly shimmering, trapped within the mesh.

Isla Thorne pressed flat against the cold, damp earth of the bluff. She lifted her binoculars once more, zeroing in on the netted cage resting in the tidal pool below. Through the lenses, the shimmering scales came into focus, revealing a small, serpentine form. It thrashed weakly against the mesh, delicate bat-like wings folded tight. A miniature dragon, no bigger than a house cat, struggled for freedom.

Isla Thorne scrambled down the slick bluff path, her boots gripping the wet rocks beneath her. Salt-laden wind whipped around her as she reached the tidal pool. She knelt beside the netted cage, the mesh stretched tight around the miniature dragon. The creature thrashed weakly, its iridescent scales dulled by the cold water. Isla studied the cage latch carefully, a simple, sturdy metal hook fastened with a thick, rusted padlock.