The beta-half-pup told her that he knew the seal she was looking for. He told her that he had not seen her friend in a long time, not since an alpha threw him from the rocks, back before winter.

She was disappointed. She had seen her friend more recently than this.

So he didn’t return?

No, the beta-half-pup told her by barking. Then, he rubbed his body around hers, to comfort her and tell her there were plenty of other haul-outs that her friend may have gone to.

They herded a school of darting herring together and gorged themselves, then he returned to the haul-out and she continued west, following the directions her friend had given her.

Maybe he is waiting for me closer to the school, she thought as she swam.

After a while, she heard them, just like her friend described. She heard them sliding and fluttering against one another, herded so tightly there was no water between them. There were only bodies rubbing on bodies rubbing on bodies.

As she swam closer, the water became murky and so sweet with rotting fish she didn’t know if she wanted to gobble it up or vomit—maybe because of the smell and taste, or maybe because the pup in her belly had begun moving restlessly, stirred up by the filthy water burrowing into her fur or by her agitation or by something else entirely.

Who knows what bothers it; who knows what it wants. Certainly not her. Her pup is a mystery growing inside her. Growing increasingly restless. She wonders what it will be like, when it emerges. She wonders if she will like it. Some betas love their pups so much they suckle them for years, right up until they are becoming beta themselves. Some betas loathe their pups and leave them to wither into leather, picked over by birds, on the rocks.

She swam slowly, moving her body as little as possible so as not to further agitate her quivering belly.

Gradually, they emerged out of the murk (or she emerged towards them): thousands of fat, slick bodies churning busily, bound by a webbed barrier. She pressed her face against the barrier and chewed for a while on the meshing, waiting for her pup to still, watching the fish stream past her face, unable to bite at them.

He was right; this was the most alluring thing she had ever seen. Ever smelt. Ever tasted on the water.

When her pup finally stilled, she swam as deep as she could into the murk. But she had no faith in herself, no faith in her pregnant little body.

She’s still not sure if she tried as hard as she might have. She wishes she knew. Not knowing means she will regret it forever, because she only had that one chance.