The glimmer of hope that was the fleeting glimpse of land now became a reality as before them in the distance, a definite mass rose up. It gave the impression of a desolate place, somewhere no one lived, and somewhere the balls could find safety even in its barrenness. The balls rowed frantically, racing the weather, tide & death.

As they neared the barren mass the waves became more violent. Water shipped in to the small craft. The ball at the stern shouted for more effort as he began bailing with a hat. The waves were winning. The boat ploughed on into the unrelenting foe for now the ocean had become a deadly enemy. Should they capsize, all would most certainly perish. A new terror became the balls’ focus. A terror they were familiar with, a terror all seafarers have had sometime in their lives.

The balls rowed furiously, the waves sneered and snarled and leapt into the slowly sinking boat. The cries of anguish from the balls were pathetic as they saw life being snatched away; but the barren mass edged closer. Hearts were in mouths and still the balls pulled on the oars. As they drew closer to the barren mass three fins closed in on the boat.

White rows of death smudged with crimson were bared and the fins bore in.

The boat struck the barren mass with a splintering cry and began to break up. The surf dragged the timber back into the waiting fangs of the fins that tore at the boat and found a ball. The ball screamed as he was pulled into the frenzy. An arm waved farewell. The ball was gone.

The other balls scrambled on to the barren mass. They clawed themselves up the slippery slope, finally, falling, exhausted. Although cut and bruised they were relieved at their escape. The mist lay thick & the silence penetrated the aftermath.

A deep groan emitted from within the mass which grew louder. In the swirling haze, on the far side, two huge eyes studied them…

The barren mass began to submerge