Beakabyss

The island went under on a clear night. The flock did not scatter — the flock dove. Six hundred eggs slipped into the trench that night, and every song the flock ever learned went down with them. Somebody has to go back for the rest. Steer with one finger. Pull down to dive faster and gather more, push up to buy yourself a moment — both cost air. Flash your lantern to hold the dark off, and keep a charge for whatever is waiting at the bottom. Five zones, thirty dives, and five things that have been down there a very long time. Between runs, mend your hull at the Roost, choose which of the crew comes with you, and read the trench floor with sonar for what the silt kept.