Khepri Sandwhisker wanted to make a crown for the ocean's sovereign, and to do it he needed the best stardust in the black sands. He knelt over a mound of glittering black grit, waiting for the flicker. Most hunters swam past sand like this. Khepri watched for the faint gleam of trapped moonlight, and when a tiny gold shard surfaced, he lifted it free. One shard. A crown would need dozens. The best fell deep, past the obsidian shelf, where the water pressed hard enough to turn swimmers back. He had told too many people his plan. Word of the crown had spread, and now a rival hunter shadowed his grounds. He caught her outline against the pale scatter of falling stars above the water. She was fast. She was heading for the deep fall past the shelf, the same fall he needed. If she reached it first, she would strip it clean. He would lose his best material. Khepri surfaced near a wrecked ship, where Captain Felicity Sandwhisker sat on the sand with her harp. She shared his name, though he had never learned how. She played, and her Merkitty crew went still around her. Khepri hated to break the quiet. "I need to cross the obsidian shelf tonight," he said. "Faster than a swimmer." Felicity did not stop playing. "Pressure kills swimmers past the shelf." "A rival's ahead of me. She'll take my fall." Felicity set the harp down. "Currents run under the shelf. Cold ones. They pull deep and fast." She pointed toward the dark water. "Ride the cold seam. It drops you past the pressure. Swimmers can't fight it. You don't fight it." "And if I miss the seam?" "You don't come back." She picked the harp up again. That closed the topic. Khepri swam out. He found the cold seam where the water turned icy against his tail. The rival was above him, clawing down through the pressure, slowing. He stopped fighting. He let the cold current seize him and drag him under the shelf. It pulled him fast, past the crushing depth, down to the sea floor. There the fall waited. A mound of black silt lay heaped with gold shards, more than he had ever seen in one place. He filled his pouch until it strained. Above him the rival hung against the pressure, unable to follow. She watched him take it all. Khepri rode the seam back and broke the surface with a full pouch. He had his material. He had enough for the crown. But the rival had seen where the cold seam ran. She had seen him vanish and return alive. Now she knew the deep falls could be reached, and she knew the way. Khepri gripped his pouch. He had won this fall. He had also taught his rival how to beat him at every fall to come.