The sun baked the beach until the sand was scorching hot.
It was time for the daily "fry hour" again.
Hundreds of white figures had already gathered atop the cliff. They no longer treated this as an ordinary feeding trip, as they had at first. It had evolved into a solemn communal activity steeped in ritual.
Steaming fries sat in the same ten large wooden trays, their aroma drifting up the cliff on the sea breeze and tantalizing every Great Skua's taste buds.
Today, however, something had changed.
The bipeds who set down the fries did not retreat immediately as usual. They withdrew fifty meters away and simply stood there, neither approaching nor leaving.
"Situation change! The bipeds haven't withdrawn!"
"It's a trap! I knew it!"
Chaos erupted atop the cliff. The young skuas paced restlessly, their wings opening and closing in agitation. Their stomachs growled, but the figures standing in the distance put them on guard.
"Quiet!"
A short, commanding cry quelled the commotion.
The flock's leader rose from its personal throne, its golden eyes sweeping over the beach below.
"Kowo! Situation analysis!"
The skua with gray-white feathers on its head stepped forward.
"Boss, observations indicate five target units, all in nonaggressive stances. They're maintaining a safe distance from the 'fries.'"
Another burly skua, its beak still notched from a fight a few days earlier, called out.
"Who cares about their tactics! Rick! Take two of the boys down and bring back the food! We'll distribute it in the air!"
Rick, the young skua whose name had been called, shrank back.
"Plevit! Don't chicken out!" the leader snapped. "That's not your style."
"But, boss... they're just watching us. It feels too weird," Rick muttered.
"That's exactly why we need to figure it out!"
It spread its wings.
"First and