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The rush of the surrounding waves buzzed in his ears. Kotu tried to find his balance, eyes rapidly taking in the situation the humans had left him in. The boat was gonna tip—he knew that. There was no way it wasn’t going to. Three people were lying on the sides of the ship, and their leader—Moana?—was breathing hard on a separate platform.
They were useless. A hot boil pulsed between his veins. If they had just thrown the damn spear correctly he wouldn’t have needed to intervene. He rocked forward carefully, peering over a wood plank that angled itself on the pole he was standing on.
The dark walls reeked of dead sea life, the saltwater smell overpowered by blood and mucus of decayed animals within the mini typhoon of the mountain. Sunlight barely made it between the two sides, but the illuminated vessels from the large creature made it easier to see.
A whipping noise shook his focus. Moana seemed to notice as well, glancing at Kotu before plunging forward toward some coiled rope. He readjusted his mask, following her short trail, hopping over. His shoulder started to ache, but he couldn’t stop moving now. He bit back his anger, and went on autopilot to assess the damage.
The rope was unfurling, and the curly haired girl started pulling fast, using her legs for leverage. She had a desperate look in her eyes, tears welling as she yelled incoherent things Kotu couldn’t comprehend as more burning thoughts rummaged through his head. He perched as she winded up the fiber along the poll, her human companions yelling more as the boat creaked backward.
His stance next to the girl gave him a perfect view of his own traveling island. His community. His father.
There was an imminent pull at his heart, thumping against his chest so heavily. He knew there was only one thing he could do.
His father found his eyes, or it seemed like it, and his expression had told Kotu that he came to the same conclusion as him.
The thumping between his ribs got harder, louder, and the rage fizzled into something more sour. He’d have to say goodbye.
The horns of his father’s helmet was like an arrow, pointing to the pounding his dad started making with his fists. One hand, the other, and finally both. The drumming matched his sinking stomach.
Fuck.
Kotu could feel bile in his throat. He did his own goodbye. With each pump against his own, he hoped his father thought proudly of him.
Moana was screaming by now, jumbled up words lost in the noise of the ocean. The sound of wood splintering, and breaking off to the abyss below jumped his mind back to his body. Kotu found his knife and unsheathed it.
He looked up once more to the trees he climbed as a child, the elders that taught him hunting, and the area where his own bed lied. His father tightly held his hands together, watching his only son solemnly stare back at him.
“What are you doing!” the girl’s shrilly voice rang, too loud for the proximity she had to Kotu.
Kotu ignored her, leaning forward.
He exhaled. And slashed at the rope.
The island of a mussel would soon clamp its jaws. Hopefully, he thought, death would be peaceful.
The burning image of his home flashed behind his eyelids as the canoe rolled over to the darkness.