Munz tied the knots clumsily, the wind and spray in his face as he sat at the end of the dock. The innate grace of his elven ancestors was not with him, particularly when he had gone this long without a decent drink. He felt like strangling that old coot who had shamed him into this in front of all those people.
He squinted. Something not right with the water.
He set the net that he was repairing for the human widow down, and leaned over the edge of the pier. The water here was about eight feet deep, and not too clear because the waves were kicking up a lot of sediment. Still Munz had something of the elven senses in his blood, and he was sure he had seen a shape. A large one. A fish perhaps?
Strong hands made of metal and stone grabbed him, and pulled him under.
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