“I’ve been to Kent,” Nora had countered. “I noticed that. But I like that theory. I can meet that many people on Instagram in an hour.”
“Exactly. Not healthy! Our brains can’t handle it. Which is why we crave face-to-face communication more than ever.
And... which is why I would never buy my Simon & Garfunkel guitar chord songbooks online!”
She smiled at the memory, then was brought back to the reality of the Arctic landscape by the sound of a loud splash.
A few metres away from her, between the rocky skerry she was standing on and Bear Island, there was another little rock sticking out of the water.
Something was emerging from the sea froth. Something heavy, slapping against the stone with a great wet weight.
Her whole body shaking, she got ready to fire the flare, but it wasn’t a polar bear. It was a walrus.
The fat, brown wrinkled beast shuffled over the ice, then stopped to stare at her.
She (or he) looked old, even for a walrus. The walrus knew no shame, and could hold a stare for an indefinite amount of time.
Nora felt scared. She only knew two things about walruses: that they could be vicious, and that they were never alone for very long.
There were probably other walruses about to haul out of the water. She wondered if she should fire the flare.
The walrus stayed where it was, like a ghost of itself in the grainy light, but slowly disappeared behind a veil of fog.
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