So Wind thought.

I'll scare the little sharks off with a big one. I'll feed my big shark, and keep the food out in front of its nose — to steer.

In his imagination the nearest Mako promised him anything at all — yes, yes, feed me, and I'll carry you home.

But the idea went darker with every new thought.

Okay. I feed it. I climb on. I hold the food out front.

But the fuller the shark gets, he thought, the slower it swims. It drifts. It sinks low. It stops caring about the food at all, and turns in long, lazy, backward circles — round and round the island, going nowhere.

Because a fed shark doesn't want to travel. A fed shark doesn't even care about the other sharks.

And some other shark, still hungry, would always want a bite.

Which would be, of course, Wind.