The Salty dog was filled with sailors and docksmen, workers that stopped by the pub after quitting time. It nearly was a full house. yet two chairs, stood empty.

"Do you think the ol' man will be ok?" Johnathon was speaking in hushed tones amongst the crowd.

"Don't know." There was a frown setting upon Bill's face. "Man ain't been the same since the accident."

"Ain't seen his boat go out for about a week now."

"Johnathon shook his head. "I haven't heard nothin. even his house is quiet."

"John. He lost his first mate, and best friend. Sam was the closest to kin that ol' sea dog had."

"Ain't no one found anythin either, like the man was just up an swallowed."

Soon they would pat each other upon the back, and depart.

Richard barely made it out that week. still holding out hope that slowly dwindled with each passing day.

He listened to his radio for any sign of bodies washing ashore, and so far there had been none.

Holding onto one of Sam's fishing rods, he settled it upon a pair of hooks above the hearth.

He'd have to go out soon for his supplies were dwindling. A loaf of crusty bread sat upon the table. meager rations of a meal for a man once unbeaten by the sea.

The sky had been aflame once more. Just as it had been the fateful day he'd lost his friend.

Slowly the boat made it's way out to sea, nearing the fateful spot. Why he was drawn there, he could not say for sure.

Under the sun, the old grizzled captain fished the day away...

Sundown. Richard started hauling in his nets, when a shadow suddenly hid the sun.

Thinking it nothing but clouds, the grizzled captain continued to pull his nets from the water. Though soon the boat listed again. A dark shape, long in the neck, with talons had found perch upon the fishing vessel.

Richard stopped dead in his tracks, nets still clutched within his fingers. The beast looked as if it had come from Hell itself.

He opened his mouth, and all that could come out was a scream as it leaped. Talons found purchase into the salty captain's gut as the black started to gorge. Feasting upon the still living man.

By nightfall, she'd be gone.

Fall had long since turned to Winter, many of the fishermen had taken to shore. The Salty Dog filled with it's usual boistrous patrons.

Sailors and old salts alike spending the day in fine company, though still...

Two chairs still stood empty. A reminder to the horrors of the sea.

Many a man had remembered that day, the day the bodies of Richard and Sam had been found, though no one spoke of the horrors since. Instead they would lift their flagons in a silent toast to the fallen.

Jonathon had a bit too much to drink. Against the wishes of the tender, and Bill, the man stumbled out the door and off down the docks.

The sun had just started to rise, setting the icy bay and sky awash in a fiery hue.

A few more stumbled steps, and he looked out at the sky ablaze. The dire warning of the superstition pounding in his aching head.

Why he seemed drawn to the ice...Maybe he could find the monster before it could strike again.

Thick in most places, the ice supported the drunken man's weight as he walked long, moving further, and further from the safety of the docks.

Beneath the ice, a shadow glided along. the dark one kept on the move to keep her muscles from freezing up. Surfacing only when there was the need to breath, or feed.

It was getting close to that time....

The man had stumbled, crawling a moment across the ice, until he found what had looked like the hole an ice fisherman might have made, though there were no other men on the ice.

The powerful tail propelled the beast through the icy waters, soon she neared the breathing hole. She had not expected to find such easy prey..

The shadow of the man drew the beast's desire to feed. Soon Ice cracked, and started to split beneath the man's boots.

Wide eyed, he'd stare in awe, and horror as the great black snout pushed through the ice. The great maw gaping. Fangs stained red from her last kill.

A sea dragon. Or so he thought. Stumbling backwards, her fell, and started scooting away, though by now, the icy chuck he sat upon gave way to the icy waters below. He could face the beast, or die of exposure, or hypothermia.

Dark jaws had lunged, and the man had leaped, narrowly making it onto the next chunk over. If he could keep the ice between him and the beast...he might just have a chance.

He was so very close...when a sharp, hot pain shot through his leg. It felt as if hundreds of red hot needles had been poking him, before he fell again, landing upon the ice flow. Blood flowed freely from where he'd been punctured, and he could clearly see the marks where the fangs had dug through.

Why had she not killed him yet' She was playing. Playing with her food. Sometimes...it made the chase more enjoyable.

The shadow moved again, below the waves, sending the ice flow further from the shore. A man, a drift at sea.

Screaming did not help, even through the agony. He was sure now...It hadn't been a shark that killed the Old salt, and his mate. It had been a dragon of the sea.

Steadying himself with his hands, Jonathon waited until another ice flow drifted close, and using the weight of his good foot...He'd push himself into the air, silently praying to any of the gods or goddesses of the sea that he might make it out, and home alive.

A prayer...that would end up unanswered.