Strange Land

On the calm sea, waves three feet high still rose even without wind. Amid the rolling swells, an aged wooden trawler more than thirty meters long struggled onward across the water.

Below the waterline, the mottled hull had faded so badly that its original paint color could no longer be made out. The deafening roar of the steam engine in the engine room seemed to proclaim that the vessel's most vital machinery was far from what it once had been. Like an old ox in the twilight of its life, still straining to haul an oxcart uphill, it was beginning to show its weakness.

A flock of skuas flew alongside the old trawler. The skuas living in these waters already knew that whenever such fishing boats hauled in their nets, they would discard sardines or shrimp that were too small. The sailors would toss those undersized fish straight into the sea, and that was when the skuas feasted.

If the sailors were in a good mood, they would even laugh loudly and throw the fish into the air, watching the skuas snatch the fish and shrimp one after another in midair as if performing aerial acrobatics.

The skuas had followed the old trawler all morning. During that time, the boat had cast its nets six times, and two of those hauls had been quite good. The skuas had shared in the spoils twice as well.

At that moment, the trawler's fish hold was already more than half full of seafood, with only a little more needed before it was full. Those several tons of fresh catch made the laboring-old-ox-like engine scream even more sharply and harshly.

It was not only the fishing boat's engine that was crying out; even the skuas in the sky were shrieking loudly now.

"Boss, cast