![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marjoricaTheir flesh is rank and oily, best saved for drying against the cold, long, winter months
The tallow is plentiful and lends a piscine flavour to anything cooked in it. It does well for waterproofing, less so for lamp oil given a tendency to emit a black smoke.
The fur and skin make excellent clothing, waterskins, boots. The fur itself is dense and soft as a greased cloud. It does its part in keeping out the cold.
The creatures themselves are noisy en masse. When a colony lands the air is full of plaintive honking and grunting, males challenging one another, calling to females. The females in turn call to their young and the young to their mothers. It is a constant bedlam.
A colony gives off a heat and a stench of fish and ordure. To see the fat sows at breeding time, painfully rolling and pulling their bulk on their elbows, you would never fathom how they move in the water. There they are like sharp-nosed bullets, daredevil acrobats, aeronauts who could thread themselves through the eye of a needle. From the water they may dare to be curious, liquid black eyes apparently imbued with intelligence. Coming to land is a form of sacrifice for them.
A grown seal on its own, a seal cornered, is little trouble on the shore. Approach them and they will make for the freedom of the sea with everything in them. Their teeth are sharp and strong and their flippers surprisingly rough, but both are easily evaded should you wish to dispatch one.
To capture one would take more preparation and guile.
The tallow is plentiful and lends a piscine flavour to anything cooked in it. It does well for waterproofing, less so for lamp oil given a tendency to emit a black smoke.
The fur and skin make excellent clothing, waterskins, boots. The fur itself is dense and soft as a greased cloud. It does its part in keeping out the cold.
The creatures themselves are noisy en masse. When a colony lands the air is full of plaintive honking and grunting, males challenging one another, calling to females. The females in turn call to their young and the young to their mothers. It is a constant bedlam.
A colony gives off a heat and a stench of fish and ordure. To see the fat sows at breeding time, painfully rolling and pulling their bulk on their elbows, you would never fathom how they move in the water. There they are like sharp-nosed bullets, daredevil acrobats, aeronauts who could thread themselves through the eye of a needle. From the water they may dare to be curious, liquid black eyes apparently imbued with intelligence. Coming to land is a form of sacrifice for them.
A grown seal on its own, a seal cornered, is little trouble on the shore. Approach them and they will make for the freedom of the sea with everything in them. Their teeth are sharp and strong and their flippers surprisingly rough, but both are easily evaded should you wish to dispatch one.
To capture one would take more preparation and guile.
