Ficly

Dry Low Tide

Perched on the side of a rocky cliff I could hear the ocean waves crash on the rocks below. The seagulls squawked as they circled above looking for an easy meal. In front of me I could see two slugs slowly sliding across my perch oblivious to the impending danger.

It was low tide, the day was dry and I shut my shell tight to save what water I had, but it would only last so long. Even the slugs were heading for cover out of the heat, slowly working their way toward the cool shade cast by the cliff above. I felt a gust of wind, there was a streak of white and one was gone. I looked up to the clouds to see the bird rise into the sky with its lunch. As the bird dropped from view a single white feather drifted down on the breeze and landed in front of me, by the remaining slug heading for cover out of the sun.

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