A shiver of sharks.
Take a moment to appreciate that awesome alliteration.
It’s like the lingual love-child of Edgar Allan Poe and Jacques Cousteau.
They had anchored their sailboat early that afternoon, planning to stay offshore overnight – just the two of them cradled by bent wood and the sea.
She was swimming off the port side when she felt, rather than saw, something approaching beneath the surface of the water.
Stay calm, she thought, swimming for the ladder.
Safely aboard, they watched the fins circling.
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