You and your brothers and sisters burst angrily from the shallows and you see the fear on the faces of the people as you trample them with their crops. Those that you do not trample flee. You fatten yourselves on a crop that will never see harvest by those skinny monkey things that think themselves somehow its owner. This winter let it be their young that starve. You re-enter the currents of the river, borne downstream, ecstatic.