Wolf of the deep

I can still remember the first time I laid eyes on a pike. Even as a five-year-old, I knew I was watching something special. I peered down into the water and felt a little tingle around the pit of my stomach. I was excited, but more than a little scared too: this fish had bad intentions.

I gripped my grandad’s hand. We fished together every week and often encountered creatures in the river’s edges; but they would always flee the moment they became aware of our presence. This pike was untroubled by us though; confident in the camouflage afforded by a cover of reeds and its olive-green yellow-flecked skin. It waited; for what, I did not know.

Suddenly, another tiny pike slid into