The only faith we have is faith in us
Cibil—the son of Poseidon, serpent of the seas, and a born pirate—was certainly made for the ocean. That much was obvious. What couldn't be noted from external features, was his affinity for working with his talons. He wasn't the most dexterous, the claws extending from the ends of his wings were a bit awkwardly placed for such intricate work as he was now attempting, but he made do. He had spent the better part of the morning tying knots and weaving a net for fishing. He hadn't ever needed to stoop to using tools for his own survival, but since he and his brother were taking up residency in this island clan for the time being, he had decided to demonstrate his fishing prowess. The most practical way to gather enough fish for everyone in the shortest time possible, Cibil had reasoned, was to craft a net and drag it through a school of fish. Shouldn't be too difficult.
Indeed, the scaled beast found himself back in his natural element as soon as he slithers down the beach into the waters. He shifts instinctively in reaction to the salt water washing over his scales, talons retreating back into a double set of wings that turn from thinly stretched skin to rubbery flesh that propels him easily through the waves like a twin pair of flippers. He hugs the sandy ocean floor, the net caught in his fangs, long body rippling along as he peers about for silvery glints of fish. It doesn't take long before Cibil is darting through a packed grouping of tarpon. As the fish scatter around him and disperse into the shadowy waters, he reels around to examine the wriggling catch in his netting. Three tarpon trash wildly against the net and each other, still struggling to escape despite the impossibility of that task. The ends of the net are caught firmly in Cibil's powerful jaws as he thrusts himself through the glittering ocean back towards the shore. His catch, while not particularly difficult to drag through the water, becomes significantly heavier as he pulls it up onto the beach.
The three fish, each about three or four feet and likely getting up to around one hundred pounds, should be suffice to feed a majority of the Tides. Or, at least, two of them will. The third will be an offering to Poseidon and later he will return to fish for himself and Dicearchus should his brother be preoccupied with other endeavors. Cibil heaves his still-fighting prize all the way out of the water and lays them out on the sand. Head bowed, he murmurs a quick prayer in thanks to Poseidon for providing him with a successful hunt and to the fish, honored beasts of the sea, for their ultimate sacrifice. With that, Cibil ducks his head and sinks his teeth into the spines of the tarpons, one by one until all three of them lay limp before him. Satisfied, Cibil begins to pulls them even further up the beach under the canopy of trees where he will sit to clean them.
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