Fishing Hole

Nir looked pensively into the waters below. The surface was calm, cool, reflecting a wobbly image of their stark features back to them as they peered over the edge of the boat. Vast blue-black loomed below, a perfect backdrop for their mirror image, almost tempting in how it promised an escape from the day's heat.

Fishing on shore had been a bust. More than a few questions had been asked of them--surely, reasoned the scholar and the tourist alike, an Astrean would have some idea of this aquatic mystery. But Nir knew probably less than they did, utterly blank faced as they stared at the inquisitive party before wandering out of the shallows to find some means of escape.

Now in the safety of a rented boat, they eyed the o'worm that lay in calm respite on their palm. The baitshack merchant had explained with a wink and a grin how easily the tiny creature would take to its grave; sure enough, when offered the hook it simply curled around the warm metal and seemed to look up at Nir. Baffling, to be sure, but they supposed grim acceptance was far better than fighting the little thing. Deftly they tied the fishing line--their rod, surprisingly shiny for being free, had been a gift from the bait merchant, offered with a flirtatious flourish that had been met with Nir's usual stony gaze. Now it felt unfamiliar and a bit unwieldy in their hands, a tool of surface-dwellers that they'd never even considered until now.

The worm looked on solemnly as it was lowered into the water. Down it went, its vivid reds and yellows gradually washed out by the blue of the deep. Nir had seen a few flickers of fish down there, although their gleaming scales were hard to pick out from the sparkles of the sun on the surface; all there was to do now, it seemed, was to hold onto this fishing rod and wait.

They'd done plenty of waiting over all those years. This would be just fine.