Submission (#8125) Approved

The tide is low this morning, and Mavis finds herself wandering the mist draped shallows of Ealei, where the roots of the mangroves stretch like a wooden lattice over silver blue water. She walks slowly, eyes scanning the tidepools and the narrow channels that wind through the trees like liquid paths, cradled in green shade.

Everything here feels suspended between breath and silence. Fog curls around the roots like a living thing, shifting and thinning as the light grows and wanes. Distant birdsong echoes in watery tones, blending with the rhythmic lap of the sea. Her pawsteps leave no mark that lasts, quickly reclaimed by the tide.

She hears them before she sees them, a faint chittering sound, somewhere between a trill and a bubbling laugh. Then, with a sudden burst of motion, one of the pools stirs. A group of tidegleam runners scuttle from one patch of seagrass to the next, their opalescent shells catching the filtered light like polished pearls. Each is no larger than her paw, with long, fan like tails and frilled gills that shimmer faintly.

One of the creatures pauses, lifting its flat, moon pale face toward her with what looks like curious interest. Then it vanishes with a flick of its tail, darting beneath the shelter of a rock ledge, joined by three more that seem to blur into the shadows.

These creatures aren’t rare exactly, but they’re elusive. Locals say the runners are good luck to glimpse, especially in pairs. They only emerge during certain tides, and only when the weather is calm enough that the pools stay glassy.

For a while, Mavis simply watches them, this gentle wonderous glimpse of life that is unique to Ealei. In this tangled place of roots and mist and tide, even the smallest creatures carry quiet wonder.