“Don’t believe them folk tales, do ye?” the shipmate asked the fisherman.
The icy Scottish waters rocked them steadily towards the distant island, but the air was silent.
“Aye, and you should too. They say the great beast can take many a form. Lures you in when it’s small, eats whales when it’s—”
The island suddenly shifted into a great, oscillating mass, changing shape and color, a multitude of eyes and fins.
“I believe in it now,” the shipmate cursed as the fisherman prayed.
Huge waves rocked the ship violently as the Cirein-cròin skittered towards them, mouth gaping.
Ready to eat.