So, imagine this, if you will…
You’re a deck hand on a North Atlantic fishing boat. You’ve been at sea for a couple months, you’re tired, you’re cold, and you think the rest of the crew might be planning to eat you if the food stores run out. Then one day, while you’re on deck doing whatever it is that deck hands do (I don’t think it has anything to do with caressing the deck with your hands, but I could be wrong), you glimpse something odd on the shore of a tiny island by which you just happen to be passing.
You see towering white spires, arranged in a double row all along the shoreline. You see the huge skulls of giant whales dotting the landscape, and to you (being a lowly deck hand – I think deck hands are lowly, aren’t they?) it looks like the remnants of an ancient slaughter, an unceremonious graveyard for creatures of the deep.
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