The Rush and the Ripple

Ffyo arrived at the cove at full speed—her wings sharp, her energy sharp, her frustration even sharper.

She’d done everything right.

She’d checked every angle, chased every option, ran the map backward and forward. And still—still!—the outcome hadn't matched the effort. She landed with a thud against the wet sand, wings flaring hard enough to send a ripple across the tide.

That’s when she heard it.

A low breath, like the sea exhaling.

Murmo was there, half-submerged in the calm shallows. The great manatee blinked slowly, unfazed by Ffyo’s storm.

“Hello, little current,” Murmo said, her voice thick and warm like molasses. “Care to sit awhile?”

“I don’t have awhile,” Ffyo snapped. “I have now. Or never.”

Murmo tilted her head. “Then never must be very loud today.”

Ffyo sighed—loudly—and flopped down beside the gentle giant, wings twitching.

“I don’t get it. I did everything. But the results were still... wrong. Slow. Delayed."

Murmo gave a soft rumble of understanding.

Ffyo frowned. “Don’t mmhmm me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Murmo said. “I’m just... floating with you.”

There was silence. The kind that stretched so long Ffyo could feel it.

“You ever mess up?” she finally asked. “You ever try your best and... it just wasn’t enough?”

Murmo’s whiskers twitched. “Once, I tried to save a coral bloom. It was being eaten from the inside—by time, by temperature, by toxins I couldn’t see or fight. I tried everything. Called in fish friends. Redirected currents. Even pleaded with the whales for shade. But still... the bloom faded.”

Ffyo blinked. “What’d you do?”

Murmo rolled slowly onto her back, letting the tide hold her.

“I grieved. I waited. And eventually, I watched something new grow in its place. Not the bloom I loved. But something that needed me less... and still brought light.”

“That’s not good enough,” Ffyo muttered.

“No,” Murmo said. “It wasn’t.”

Ffyo stared at the sky.

“I’m tired, Murmo. Tired of pushing. Tired of doing everything right and still feeling like the wrong one.”

Murmo turned her gaze toward her.

“You move like a storm that forgot how to rain.”

That hit.

Ffyo sat in it.

“I don’t know how to slow down.”

“I don’t want you to,” Murmo replied. “But I do want you to know the difference between progress and panic.”

Ffyo tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Murmo drifted closer.

“Progress is the current. It knows where it’s going—even if you don’t. Panic is the splash. Loud. Impressive. Gone in a moment.”

Ffyo closed her eyes. Her wings, still half-flared, lowered slightly.

Murmo continued. “Sometimes what looks like stillness is movement. Just deeper. Slower. More deliberate.”

Ffyo scoffed. “That’s not how I was made.”

“No,” Murmo agreed. “You were made to soar. But even storms must pass through the eye.”

They sat quietly then. The tide lapped gently at Ffyo’s toes.

Murmo gave one final nudge. “You’re not behind, little current. You’re evolving. And evolution doesn’t ask for speed. Only patience.”

Ffyo didn’t answer, not with words. But she stayed. And that, Murmo knew, was enough.