The cobbles were hot below unshod feet. He hurried across them to the water. The bottom sloped slowly. He pushed onward, enjoying the work, until he could jump loose and strike out. Amidst the stillness, every splash rang loud. The thrusting gladdened his thews, the cool sliding thrilled around his skin, salt kissed his lips. Ducking under, he swam through amber. On he frolicked and on.

He was well offshore when something broached a ways off. The whoosh of it caught his heed. Dazzled, he squinted at a big shape. Was it a seal? He had romped with seals before now, In waters where they had not yet learned fear of man. Eager for anything new, he drew closer.

The thing rested quietly. It was a beast. His heart leaped. A beast like nothing he had ever seen or heard of. Seal size it was, with flippers, but a long flat tail trailed it. Long also was the neck, maned like a horse’s. The head was long too, and narrow, with great golden eyes. The hide shimmered in soft rainbow hues, as does the inner shell of an oyster. Very fair to behold was the beast, and very strange.

It turned its head toward him but lay afloat, unafraid.

What a catch! Men would wonder at it, and speak of it, and ever afterward remember the hunter who brought it home.

The king drew his knife. Swimming with his legs and left arm, he closed in.

He laid that left hand on the beast’s neck, as he had laid it on the necks of deer he had stalked. The mane felt soft, the flesh warm. His nostrils drank a smell like the smell of clover when bees hum through it harvesting.

He stabbed.

The beast did not scream. The sound it made might have come from a harp struck by an angry skald. Though blood sprang red out onto the water, the head swung about and jaws gaped at Hadding’s shoulder. The teeth within were sharp.

He fended the bite off with his free arm. He wrapped his legs about the body and clung tight. His knife slashed.

The beast dove. Hadding caught his breath barely in time. Down into green depths they went, while his blade sought the life of his quarry. The sandy bottom rippled in his sight. He scraped across it. Still he struck. Blood streamed like snakes from every wound. Here below it looked black.

The beast threshed back upward. It broke through and sang its anguish to the cloudless, windless sky. Hadding gulped air. Again he cut, and again.

The beast sighed. The maned neck slumped, the tail drooped. Hanging on, Hadding felt its life drain away.

It did not sink, as he had feared it might. He and it rocked together in the stained waters.

Letting go, sheathing his knife, “Ho-ah!” he bawled into silence. “Hai-saa-saa! Victory!”