The Eels
I walk along the bank and chuck the rest in piece by piece, up by where a little waterfall churns the clear water. Still nothing. Then, a minute later, the first eel approaches.
It methodically passes along the rocks on my side of the falls, as if sniffing like a dog or cat. It noses a fallen leaf, moss, and swims near or round a couple of pieces of fat without so much as a glance. Its fin grazes the surface of the stream, sending brush-thin ripples out across the water.
By Ellie Boughton.