Drifting Manatee

In the warm shallows around Praetoria's coasts, manatees drift like living boulders. They move slowly through kelp forests and seagrass beds, grazing on vegetation with flat, whiskered snouts. Their bulk makes them appear clumsy, but they navigate currents with surprising grace.

Sailors consider them good omens. When manatees surface near a ship, the crew knows the waters are safe, the weather will hold, and no predators lurk below. They're gentle creatures, curious about vessels but never aggressive. Sometimes one will approach close enough to touch, watching with small, intelligent eyes before drifting away.

Pod mothers keep their calves close, guiding them to the richest feeding grounds. When threatened, they don't fight but simply sink deeper and drift to safer waters.

But their size deceives. A full-grown manatee can weigh as much as three ulund warriors. When startled or cornered, that bulk becomes dangerous. A tail fluke swung in panic can shatter a rowboat, and a body rolling in shallow water can pin a swimmer beneath it.

Most never see this side of them. The manatees drift peacefully through their territory, unbothered by the wars raging on land.