Before the sun had climbed over Driftwhistle Harbor, Pip the little seal pup was already racing along the wet stones with his whiskers pointed toward the brightest thing he could see: the harbor edge.
Down by the piers, snow geese had landed in a great white spill. They were snow geese, pale birds with long necks and gray-tipped wings, and they had filled the harbor in the noisiest way possible. One stood on a piling. Two balanced on a rooftop. Many more crowded the drying nets, bobbing and shuffling as if the whole place belonged to them.
Pip loved how lively they were. He flopped faster, his green ribbon tugging at his tangled flipper, eager to reach them before anyone shooed them away. But every time he tried to squeeze past, a goose stepped sideways, a wing brushed a rope rail, and a crab pot tipped with a clack. Near him, a net sagged down over a stack of fish crates, and a gull jumped up squawking.
From farther off, Pip heard Toma’s careful boots on the snow and Mira’s quick voice asking, “Has anyone seen where they all came from?”
Pip was almost at the busy heart of the harbor now. The geese were all around him, and they did not look ready to leave. He could still push on toward the shining edge, or turn and help deal with the crowded birds before the harbor got even messier.
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