Island-Walker

Trip shimmied down the tree. “I definitely see land!” he called, skidding on the thin soil of Bodoka’s back. “We’ll be there in another day or two, if you can keep up the speed,” he went on.

Bodoka rumbled, raising her head to look at Trip with one enormous eye. Her flippers threshed the water in a constant rhythm on either side of her shell. Trip carefully climbed down the slope and rested at the lip, resting his hand on Bodoka’s leathery neck. “We will find your eggs,” he told her. “And then we will return to the open sea.”