The tide is not a mindless wave. It is a torrent teeming with hunters, each with a different way of digesting things. To recognize its form is to see the ripple before its jaws snap shut. They are not mere risks; they are living patterns of the hunt. Study this bestiary. Feel its breath on your neck. And you will know when it is time to sever the wing.
May the warmth in winter and the cool breeze in summer be a blessing to you, and may your ink never run out.