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Her name was Bala and she was a priestess. A sea otter priestess. She scurried and shot and flipped and slinked - she splashed briefly in the last remnants of a lazy wave, the foam spitting up in her wake.
the drum increased with heavy bass and toms.
As Bala reached the eastern edge of the 'most on land' corner she sniffed the air around it. She pawed forward, her little pink nose shimmered like a jellybean and her whiskers tickled the splinted wooden frame. Just as she caught its deep scent metal hinges creaked violently as the chest's top swung open. In a flurry three wiry muscled arms with callaused hands groped around the chest's exterior.
Bala shrieked and scurried back a wag. The arms became still, poised, and slowly returned to the interior of the chest. And Bala was wise to this as she followed without a sound, just a sniffle, and then thwwwooooommmsssnnnnnatcchhh an arm shot out like lightning then mewling whine mewling whine crack.
pause
thump.
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