The mesh bit into her skin. Instinct told her to bolt, to flap harder. But panic was a luxury the deep did not afford. Thrashing would only tighten the web. She slowed her heart rate. She tilted her giant body, feeling the tension of the lines.
The tension on her left wing snapped and went slack. The clearing: The ghost net drifted away into the abyss. The mesh bit into her skin
The ocean did not begin at the surface. For the Great Manta, reality began in the endless, rhythmic push of the cold deep. reality began in the endless