Day rose normally along the coast; wind blew eastward. A chilly surprise crawled Poseidon's stern posture into a beckoning '-achoo.' The house trembled, or so it seemed. The backdoor, placed by the kitchen, opened to the fresh smell of sea critters. Avon's coughs irregularly permeated, and the kafuffle of the early morning began in stride.
"Gophy, is that right?"
"I don't know," returned a slower, more paced response, "-and I don't want to know. Should we end their lives as a show of strength or carry on?"
Poseidon stared blankly, "-yeah, you're right," resumed Gophy, learning much from the unresponsive man, "-suppose killing 'em won't do much good."
