Saltglass Cutter

Field account

At noon the tidal flat looked empty enough to hurt the eyes. White salt, white sky, white glare off every stranded pool. Marrow pointed out a line of six reflections moving against the sun, and then the line folded into an animal. It was longer than a skiff and no higher than my boot, with clear blade fins laid flat along its ribs. The Cutter had been crawling beneath its own mirage. When it sprang, those fins opened and the world broke into a dozen false attacks, each arriving from a different patch of brightness. We survived because Marrow threw his net over the reflection, not the beast. Saltglass caught in every knot, dragging the real body off true. Its blood dried before it struck the ground, leaving a fan of red crystals inside the net and nothing on the mud.

Observed behavior

A Cutter hunts the brightest hour, using reflected sky to flatten its outline and split its apparent position. It waits for a group to string out across mud or narrow seawall, then commits to the most distant figure. If the first strike fails, it does not brawl. It sheds several brittle plates, flashes them through the shallows, and retreats beneath the resulting dazzle. Cutters circle net floats and bright buoys with ritual caution, perhaps mistaking them for rival eyes. Freshwater makes them irritable and reckless; night sends them into deep crevices where their own shine cannot betray them.