Drake Redhide awoke from his slumber, his serpentine form uncoiling as he yawned and stretched. As the eel-man smacked his lips and tasted the ocean water, he noticed a peculiar taste floating around. It seemed as though the spinnakers had got into his coral garden again.
Drake sighed, letting out a steady stream of bubbles from his chiseled jaw. The muscles in his humanoid torso were a little stiff from the night’s rest, and he could feel a small but insistent craving for movement in the back of his mind.
“Time for a hunt,” he muttered to himself, turning over in the water until he was facing the door. A wave of his arm sent a current through the modest little undersea cabin, pushing the door open as though by magic. With the way clear, Drake gave a single thrash of his mighty tail, and shot like a bullet into the open ocean.
It is difficult to describe how free and open the ocean can feel. When one needs to breathe air rather than let water move over gills, being un