The snook darted about under the crystal clear waters, foraging.

They knew snatchers soared above, ready to take any weak and faulty fish.

But each believed they were strong, they were fast enough, they could get away.

And food will make them stronger so they can be faster and survive better.

There is plenty of options: some go for the algae dotting the underwater rocks, others the baby shrimp and zooplankton suspended in the water column. They just come in, pick off a few, swim back out to the shoal, alert for any splashes not made by their tails.

All stayed far from the seaweed.

They waved in the current, bite free, bright green or having a more yellowish tone. Yet not even the most long lived of snook dared to take a bite.

The bluegill took no heed.

Like a siren's call is to a man, many swarmed these delights of the sea and pecked.

Many got rewarded with the rich taste of the ocean's grass.

So they searched for more.

The snook watched and wondered if prehaps they panicked too soon. Maybe those who died were just coincidences. They're being paranoid.

And then some of the brave began to mingle with the fools, faux courage coursing through their slender scaled bodies.

They bit where others had, causing the scent of the wounded plants to drift through the water.

In no time it was a frenzy.

Sand roze from their movements, unveiling even more seaweed, more attacked them.

And never moved again.

These helpless plants suddenly wrapped around their bodies with nimble strength and pulled them below the sand.

They cannot feel five jaws arranged in a circle sink into their flesh, releasing a new scent: death. They don't know they have ceased to exist.

But their living beathren know.

Bluegill scatter, snook panic. Churning the water. Bringing unwanted attention.

Gulls and osprey break the surface, beaks and talons grab fish.