It happens.
In sunlight, streams of ova pour from her body.
She floats on the surface in dazzling light, around her the bodies of others like herself. Great heavy females releasing themselves into the warm tropic sea, the little whiplash males exuding millions of wriggling sperm.
The whole churning mess of fertilisation, sperm drawn into the body of the egg.
And it’s done.
She drifts.
An empty sack.
Gulls gather.