Umbreon and galaxy mandala on upper back

We came in past the breakwater at four this morning with the nets hanging empty and the whole fleet quiet behind us, and I want to tell you what Dolan saw, because nobody believes him and I am starting to wonder whether I believe him myself. He was at the wheel of the Margaret Rose on the long dark stretch off Skerry Point when the cloud split and the moon came through, and there was something sitting on the forward hold rail, watching us. Dark as wet slate, shaped like a fox drawn by someone who had only heard about foxes, with pale rings on its legs that caught the light like bangles.

Dolan says it did not run when he shouted. It turned its head, looked up at the moon, then down at the water as if it were counting something under the surface. Then it stepped off the rail and walked across the sea towards the marker floats we had left out at dusk, the red and white ones we use to mark the net ends. Each float had a little ring of light around it, and the water between them had gone the colour of a bruise going green, with stars swimming in it that had no business being so close to the surface.

I took the wheel from him after that and kept my eyes on the compass, which is the sensible thing to do when your mate is shaking and talking about foxes. The creature was still out there when the light came up grey, moving along the line of floats like a man checking the mooring lines of a boat he owned.

The net came up full this morning, Nan. Full to the bottom, heavier than anything we have hauled since the spring. Dolan has already decided it was a gift, and when I asked what he thought we ought to leave in return he only said the moon would know.