Out there, in the cold water, far from land, you hear her. A sound so alone you cannot miss it. It is a great and powerful boom, loud as only you can be, a song of wilderness, traveling over half a hundred miles before finally arriving at your ears. You reply in kind, taking a deep breath of air which expands your lungs to their limits, before finally booming in return; you hope she hears the message well. You are still mostly asleep, but you begin to orient yourself towards the direction of the noise.
The fish and slimy beasts of the oceans flee before your actions. It doesn't matter – you haven't been able to hunt them since the last time you awoke anyway. While your strength recovers, crab and jellyfish shall suffice: they are far less strange than the other lifeforms that surround your new home.
The only thing you can do now – or rather, the only thing that matters to you now – is to follow her call, travel south, alongside the flier-bearing boreal winds. Beyond the cold and sharp water-rocks.
You raise your flippers; they elevate above your body, where they remain tense, struggling to stay in position. They don't remain there for long, though; as soon they are released, they fall quickly, and thus you move forward. It is time to do more of the same, now with your back limbs, and repeat it forevermore. In time, fat will grease your limbs again.
You are now slow, that much you have to accept; your flippers are full of jagged, open wounds from those floating rocks. Never in your slumber could you have imagined such a thing, such a cold thing. Your eyes’ glow is reflected by their white exterior, and so is the sun. It hurts to watch — too bright and too blinding — but you must swim amongst them if you wish to surface. You will ascend at night; it will hurt less then.
Your body tells you to descend into the abyss and sleep anew, but your mind is wiser. It knows not how long you shall rest, so you do not. Not until you finally see her. Her calls still echo in your memories, and you reply with your own.
Days move, and clear skies turn into foggy dews. You passed the last water-rock a week ago and yet the water is not much warmer — the floor is far closer, though. You scout the seagrass bed with your long neck and long head, looking for any trace or smell of prey. The beasties of the sea are far quicker than you, though; any time your mouth is open, their bodies turn into wind and thunder, fleeing before you can even catch a glimpse.
Then you see it from beyond the distance: a large grinning shape, white and dark, a hundred teeth in its mouth and blackness in its eyes. It is great, yes, but you had once fought even greater. You prepare yourself to charge, and it does likewise.
The carcharodon lunges forward, mouth open wide. The sea rushes behind it, struggling to catch up. You can barely make out its position, but, at the last second before striking, you spot it, and flinch your serpentine neck out of its way. You hear it quickly turn around, and you can smell its rage too. As it tries to bite your neck off a second time, you evade it once more, this time putting more space between you both. You have seen their kind try this many times. Unlike other creatures, they are as eternal and unchanging as you.
Now you take the initiative — you hear the smallest fish begin to swim, aware that this battle is soon to end, and that whoever wins they too shall feast. You consider. A direct charge would put your neck in reach of its hundred white teeth — not an option. Thus you lay your head in the seagrass bed, too conspicuous for anyone not to notice. It is an obvious bait, but the mindless beast knows no difference — and so it swims towards you with supernatural speed, mouth wide open and tooth-filled. Just as the selachian seems close to deal the killing bite, you quickly pull your weak point from its reach, and instead the sea-dog simply crashes onto sharp sand and rock
You don't stop there. You move your body to the creature, and once upon it, slam yourself on the animal to hold it in place. Usually, you would wait for the creature to die of exhaustion and suffocation, but you haven't eaten in a long time — not since the continents broke apart. So your neck begins moving towards its still moving gills, and your teeth begin tearing off its bloody flesh and black eyes, and though it wails and though it flails and though it slams its weight against your own, once you start to eat it alive it is as good as dead..
In the end, most of the shark is utterly indigestible, yet still through the meat on its stomach you feel long lost strength return, enough to arrive to your destination. Once again, you begin paddling south, and on your way give out a true explosion of a sound — now she shall definitely hear your calls. Your travel now continues swiftly.
Your journey continues, and a roar comes directly from the heavens. You look up and see not the celestial tapestry but pure darkness, darkness and lightning and waves and wind, the war of Neptune and Jupiter. You take a deep breath and descend yet again into the ocean.
It is not long before you are safe from the storm. Your consciousness retakes your body and you see a darkness not found even in moonless nights. It is cold, and not even your shining eyes can see anything beyond the great dark. Your skin feels the crawling legs of slimy things, but as soon as you turn they disappear into the slimy sea.
It is quiet too. Trapped in darkness, you let out a roar like so many times before. You waste the air of your lungs in this maneuver as you scream in all directions of the eternal grayness. But nothing comes
You. Can. Only. Hear. Your. Heart.
Terrified of the prospect, you once again head to the surface, breaching it in a moment's notice. The storm has only grown bolder and louder since you passed it. That doesn't matter — you let the waves and winds drown your brain with noise; let them remove your doubts as they batter you, and focus on your ultimate objective.
A great sound comes from a close distance as does an earthly light. You have found her, and she is replying to you.
The ocean grows even more violent now, the sea quickly turns shallow and sharp, great knives of rock raise upwards to the heavens, and to your body. You are cut, your wave-battered body is thrown to the seablades time and time again, but you persist. Here in sight is that one who has been calling to you, and that which you have answered time and time again. Trapped between the stormy ocean and the great land cliffs, you wonder how has she has survived this long. Not just her eyes glimmer here, so do the rocks beyond the coast, how strange.
A loud roar stops your thoughts, it comes from here as you so thought, and her neck raises beyond the waterline greatly. Though bloodied, you prepare for one last push. You raise your flippers up once again, and as you lower them you finally reach your destination.
You raise your lethargic body and see your objective, and can't help but be marveled at her. Your tired eyes struggle to open, and yet it is greater than anything you have caught sight of before. Her eyes are as suns compared to yours, and her neck is as large as your whole body, red and white — you have never seen such a colour either. You could remain there for all time, together.
You break from your stupor as a faraway lighting colours the ocean white, and with all remaining air of your lungs you shout one last call. And though ocean and storm opposes you, your roar comes on top, trembling the very shimmering land where your beloved rests. You wait for her final answer, and you wait further, and you wait further still, but your only replies are the thunderbolts and mist. You can't stay like this – rising like a mountain over the ocean – for long, so you return to rest on the sharp bay, and before long try again, with an even greater scream, as much expectancy and doubt as anger, and you only just manage to completely open your eyes.
You see her it, a one-eyed giant of the coast, a titan made of stone, mocking you with its appearance. It finally screams back at you, a horrible noise here. It has attracted you here, towards the rocks and stones, to the dying cliffs and the sharp coast. Your bleeding body is cast anew with energy.
The foghorn blows. Rage and hate blind your eyes, and you launch yourself to the titan of rock.
Your neck stretches, your jaw unhinges, you coil into the body of this, your enemy, and with great strength you remove its glimmering yellow eye from its face. How hot it was that it could almost melt your teeth. But you care little for how your body ends up. And you don’t stop at the blinding of such a cruel monster.
You rear up again, struggling to hold your body in this heavier medium, and slam on the rocky body of the titan and flail neck limbs and body against what brought you suffering. Each blow you deal in the threshing you feel in your bones, many snapping, others breaking, the foamy sea becoming pink, but your work is over, the rubble a sign of your victory.
You try another scream, but it is late now. Your strength and adrenaline abandon you. Just as does the storm and the night. Harsh is sunlight to a creature a hundred million years asleep, and harsher still it is to the wounds adorning your flesh, they writhe in pain. So your instincts take over, any emotional thoughts disappear, and slowly you return to the cold salty sea.
Local fishermen will for days report stories of sea snakes stealing their catches and capsizing their boats, but as quickly as they arrived they will be over too. You are just engorging yourself, growing fat, while you can, and soon you shall return to the great blue dark, with only your eyes as a source of light. There, you shall sleep, a thousand, a million or a hundred million years more. The Stone Giants aren't long for this world — that you know — and once they are gone, your kind may swim again. After all, this wouldn't be the first time. Nor shall it be the last.