Artists made clear what each combatant brought to the fight. Whales have the power, the weight. But each squid arm is a glut of suction cups, hundreds, each ringed in serrated teeth capable of sawing through whale flesh. Artwork portrayed lots of thrashing, the whole sea at a boil. Jay might not survive it. I need to leave, he thinks. He kicks for the cliff, stirring the canyon’s crypt. His exhaled bubbles occlude his vision: he’s barely moving.
