B29C8 - Eel Facts

Popping and shrinking is only part of the deal. My eyes shrank and rolled down to the tip of my nose. My nose and chin stretched out, out, out around my new needle teeth. My forehead collapsed.

My bones liquefied, and my body caved in on itself until it was pencil-thin. Arms collapsing into my sides. Legs withering away completely.

I felt a tickly, itchy feeling as a long fin sprouted all the way down my back and gills opened up behind my mouth.

Teeny-tiny scales popped up all over my new body like goose pimples. Then an oily, slippery goop drenched me, oozing from my own body.

(...)

I caught a flash of movement to my right. Food. Live food! Zip! Chomp!

<Hey! That would be my tail! Whoever just bit me, get a grip,> Tobias complained.

Man, for a scrawny little thing with a pencil body, eels are aggressive. The eel's instincts were telling me to bite anything that moved and ask questions later.

And eat. I wanted live food.

Then . . . Chomp! Sharp teeth bit into my midsection.

<Okay, everyone stop biting!> I yelled. <Including me!>

I clamped down on the eel brain, pushing the simple, screaming instincts away. No biting, I told myself. No biting.

(...)

I began to move with a fluid, shimmying motion. Muscles stretched on one side, tightened on the other. My body went left, right, left, right. My tail whipped back and forth.

Down and down. Maybe just thirty feet to a human, but a long dive to an eel the length of someone's finger.