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Here I go again, about to raise the hair on the backs of the necks of many in the environmental crowd. It started when a post hit my inbox with a petition sponsored by Planet Rehab. I am very well-versed on this subject.
For the last 18 years I have walked the pier at Crocodile Bay as Fishing Director, sending thousands of tourists out sport fishing. The Crocodile Bay property is the site where the Hilton will be built. I also know the person behind the petition very well. After five decades on the water, I also know a little bit about dolphins. If you think I am going to defend the Hilton project in this article, you will be sorely disappointed. The developers are big boys and can do that for themselves.
Because I spend a lot time working with marine conservation and am employed by the developers, people often corner me looking for my opinion. What I have defended against many times is fabricated statements from environmental zealots who prey on uninformed or uneducated people to support their opinion for whatever their cause is. Maybe I could post a petition on Change. It would read something like this. He has a couple of tattoos and on the weekends when it is not raining, he rides his Harley Davidson.
Staley could potentially roust up a bunch of bikers and pillage your pueblo. Please donate today to buy him a new boat to keep him on the water and off the street. After I got through the vulgarities and the threats to never sleep in a Hilton again, I stumbled on some I really liked: Having spent years in the subterranean, the changes in them became more obvious.
Most of them lost pigmentation in their eyes, leaving their irises a pale variation of their former color.
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Their skin was smooth, almost pore-less, and translucent. A lack of high calorie food transformed them into waif-like creatures who, in the old years, resembled the fictitious race of elves. At the surface, they appeared ethereal as their skin captured the half-light and illuminated. Sybil was dozing off to sleep when she heard the whoosh of air pass by her.
After a few moments of hearing nothing he seemed to relax. Whispers began to fill the room growing louder and louder. Did you see anything? Delphi, the leader of their caravan, appeared and the crowd spread, allowing him to pass.
When he was standing before her, he reached his hand out to lift her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. He stared down at her with his pale amber gaze. From beneath the hood of his weather-torn robes, she could see he had kind features. Wrinkles around his eyes creased when he smiled at her, his long white beard and mustache raised with the corners of his mouth.
Only the deacons of their tribe were ever allowed to speak with Delphi. No one had heard his voice in years until now. Was her daughter in trouble? Would she be held responsible? Dropping his hand from her chin, Delphi crouched before Sybil and her locked gaze followed him. He reached for her hand this time and held it in his. It was large and warm in comparison to hers. When she was done, she realized she was trembling again, and a layer of sweat covered her brow and hairline.
Inside her chest, her heart was throttling. She is in my care, now. Before he walked away, he brushed his hand over her head and bent to kiss it. The collective inhale of everyone in attendance filled the den as they lowered their head as a show of respect. Delphi was the closest thing to royalty in the new world. He led them to safety more times than they could count, and always seemed to be one step ahead of the XXX in their ploy to eradicate them from the face of the earth.
When she reached out to take it, he shifted his weight to the staff he held in his other hand and turned, guiding her to follow them.
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Beside Iapetus, Sybil felt smaller than she was. He seemed to be made from the stone walls, each muscle in his exposed arm appeared to be hand chiseled. Clusters of raw crystal surrounded the tip where a repurposed piece of steel formed a spearhead.
Looking up into his face, Sybil could see the similarities. She could feel the goodness in him right through the connection of their palms.
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Dione reached out to take it, then followed her daughter and the procession out of the den. All around them, eyes watched and silent thoughts threatened to fill the room with overwhelming emotion. It was this way, they said, because she never spoke unless it was an absolute necessity-and when she did, her words were as strong as she, herself, was.
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Never go anywhere alone. One followed the other until everyone was once again settled into their dens, and tucked into their blankets and furs. When the last whisper died out, the watchers lit extra candles to cast the shadows away, and stood guard this way for the rest of the week. Getting used to living with Delphi was an adjustment for Sybil.
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In all the years she was alive, Sybil never saw a real animal while it was alive. Slipping her fingers through the dark fur hanging from the wall, she closed her eyes and exhaled. The furs in the den were a sign of status, but they were coarse in texture. This was like nothing she ever knew. Tears welled in her eyes and she leaned in, pressing her cheek against it. Her chest tightened and she held in a sob. So, here it sits on my wall near the fire to keep it warm, where we can both reminisce and talk.
She only had one friend, and she died from sickness many years ago. Sybil accepted the offer and sat down. Delphi pulled his gaze away from Sybil who finally gave in to sleep and turned to Dione. The deacon seemed lost in a moment of indecisiveness but bowed and exited the den. When he was gone, Delphi moved closer to Dione and lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers. When her eyes met his, he searched for answers in them.
The others can be cruel. Envy is a toxin we cannot afford. With a nod, she offered him one final smile before she pulled away and moved to her daughter.
Two weeks had passed since the incident with the shadow-man and three more had gone missing.