by J Seab
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Mel fidgeted as he waited for Willow. She was the one who got called when some critter needed saving. She had that kind of knack.
The dolfina must have gotten confused within the twisting waterways of the Salty Flats just south of Oak Cove. Mel and little Rick were doing their usual weekly scavenging, looking for the oddments that they collected. It was only by luck that Mel spotted the dolfina’s gray form wiggling feebly within a sandy basin eroded into a flat, limestone outcropping. Must have gotten stuck when the shallow tide moved out, Mel had speculated. No telling how long she’d been there. She’d hurt herself too. A long, nasty gash on her left side oozed watery-looking blood.
When they’d climbed down the embankment toward her, she’d started right up with that dolfina twittering. He couldn’t understand a word of it so he sent Rick off to get Willow while he took a closer look. She lay on her right side, one flipper waving feebly in the air with the other partially tucked beneath her. She didn’t look too good, he decided, running a hand along her parched skin. After a moment she settled back with a kind of gurgle-squeak and flapped her flipper as if saying, “Help me.”
“Now, just you rest easy. Willow will be here right quick,” he told her. “Let’s get you cooled down, meanwhile.”
Removing his shirt, he scrambled down to the shore, soaked it in the shallows, returned, and squeezed the water across her body. After several trips, he stretched his sodden shirt across her exposed skin and squatted beside her. She twittered something that sounded like thanks so Mel took a moment to examine her more closely.
The sun rose higher into the cloudless sky, reaching hot fingers into the rocks where the dolfina lay, parching her skin and sucking the water from Mel’s shirt. A nearby stray feather fluffed briefly and then lay still. A few gulls circled overhead to see what was going on, lost interest, and sailed off somewhere else squawking about other things.
An odd place to find a dolfina, Mel thought. These waterways were too shallow most times for anything bigger than a midgeon-fish. Good place for crabs; bad place for dolfinas.
He carefully examined her wound, prodding lightly at the edges. It looked bad, he concluded, red and angry, like something had attacked her.
He ran his fingers up her body searching for other wounds and then shifted to check her flippers. Her left flipper seemed alright, seemed to bend properly. He examined the exposed portion of her other flipper. Looked alright too but then he noted a thin cord extending from beneath it, half-buried in the sand. He glanced at the dolfina’s eyes but she appeared oblivious to her surroundings, air gurgling raggedly through her blowhole several times a minute. He gently lifted her flipper and saw something attached to the other end of the cord. It looked like part of a mesh bag. He worked it free with his other hand and then eased her flipper back to the ground.
He held up the bag. It contained a dark, dirt-encrusted cylinder. He removed the cylinder to examine it more closely. Definitely an oddment, he concluded, turning the cylinder over in his hands. Maybe a valuable one. It was about twenty centimeters long and four in diameter. He tapped it with one finger but couldn’t decide what it was made of—some kind of metal, maybe. There didn’t seem to be any markings on it or any way to open it. Question is, he mused, why is a dolfina carrying an oddment like this back into these shallows where she shouldn’t be?
A twitching interrupted his inspection. Tucking the cylinder into his belt pack for safekeeping, he stood to examine the dolfina again. His shirt was already dried out. Her eyes were darting about and she was making random noises.
Not good, Mel worried, wishing Willow would hurry. She’ll know what to do. He gathered his shirt and went back to collecting water, trying to keep her cool and moist, wishing he had his big crabbing bucket.
After a few minutes, she seemed to settle down.