There was nothing easy about carrying a ship across the ocean floor, especially now that the creature had a hurting nub in place of one of her tentacles.

The silbercows were surprised that her missing tentacle made such a difference, when she had so many other tentacles.

Only twelve, she said, beginning to wonder if silbercows thought everything was easy when one was big.

The silbercows asked her, given how hard it was, if it would conserve energy for her to stop singing so loudly as she went, but obviously that was a ridiculous suggestion. None of this would be possible if she weren’t bellowing her heart out as she dragged herself across the ocean floor. The bellowing protected her from how sad she was, which also happened to be the topic of her song. She was sad about losing her Storyworld and her tentacle, and she was worried about the skeletons of the two humans as she moved along. The silbercows had told her the story of what it must have been like for those two humans to find themselves locked in a room while other humans chopped a hole in the bottom of their boat, then abandoned them. Now she didn’t want them to be jostled. The thought of them suffering more than they’d already suffered was unbearable. That was the main thing she kept singing about.

The humans couldn’t suffer, the silbercows told her, now that they were dead. But of course this didn’t comfort her. Surely they hadn’t wanted to die!

The silbercows told her that sometimes a human or a silbercow didn’t have a choice, in a world of bullies.

I know! she said. That’s why I’m singing!

It’s also why the ocean needs heroes like the Keeper, said the silbercows significantly.

She could get very impatient when the silbercows started talking about the Keeper. The Keeper was silly, with her mesmerizing songs and her drawings that chased enemies away. And what about the part where the Keeper rose up and crushed the silbercows and humans if they didn’t do what she wanted? The Keeper sounds like a bully, she said. I think if you ever actually meet her, you should let me know, because I’m big, so I can stop her from bullying you.

The silbercows kept their thoughts about that to themselves. As she had requested, they sang with her as best they could—her songs were unpredictable, so it was hard sometimes to prepare for the next verse—and, gently, they shooed away any curious silbercows who approached. Not today, they told the visitors. Some other day. We’ll tell you when. It was interesting, how many silbercows tried to approach, for the singing today was especially powerful, and terrible in its sadness. But maybe the ocean was getting used to her singing. Maybe some were even drawn to its sadness, because it touched their own.

Chapter Forty-two