We watched the boat approach with curious eyes. Us young ones were hidden behind thick slabs of ice, kept safe. We chafed at this restriction. Why couldn't we go out and see the boat, too? Why couldn't we let them see us? But the elders refused. It was too dangerous, they said. Other young ones had died when they had seen the boats, they said. So we kept still and silent, huddled in clumps. Watching the boats through cracks and crevices.

A storm chased the boat into our harbor. Gray clouds filled the sky and the temperature dipped. Becoming cold. Cold as the ice and the snow. We huddled closer for warmth, unwilling to leave and go into our caves for the night, to rest. Unwilling to leave the boat.

Nothing moved on the deck. The wind lashed it from side to side, making the boat rock. Icy ocean waves crashed against it, bringing ominous creaking noises to our ears.

Perhaps we should go and help? a young one suggested, voice timorous and small. But the Elder One shook his ponderous head. No. There would be no help for the ones on the boat. They would live and die by their own efforts. Not by ours. We wanted to protest. Full of fire and idealism, burning to show our spirit. But we knew there was no recourse against the elders. Others had vanished for less. Slipped into the cold, gray depths of the sea. Lost to the ice.

Still, we did not move from our perches. We watched the boat as the storm cracked overhead. Squinted our eyes as the snow drove down. Finally, when the storm was over and the sky bright with stars, there was a glimpse of movement.

One of the two-legged ones stepped onto the deck. Their skin looked puffy and fat, over-inflated with something. The elders informed us that the two-legged ones wore something known as "clothing." They could not handle the ice as we could. We scoffed under our breaths, laughing at the two-legged ones. If they could not handle the cold, why were they here?

The two-legged one stepped back into cover, and the elders chivvied us into the caves for the night. We went reluctantly, with slow steps and grumbling murmurs. Who knew if the boat would still be there in the morning? If the two-legged ones would be there?

But they were. More of them now. Two, three...five two-legged ones. Stepping off the boat, onto the snow-covered ice. One falling, landing hard, with a muffled thump. Two-legged shouts filled the air, harsh and gritting. We did not understand their language, but the meaning was clear.

They moved about with strange boxy things held in their arms. The elders refused to speak about them. Turned up their heads and left us young ones to our "foolishness." We didn't care. This was fascinating. This was so much more than the cold and the ice and the snow. So much more than the daily battle against the deeps for food. The two-legged ones had never entered our world before. Not like this.

Come now, the elders told us as the afternoon grew long and the shadows darkened the snow. We must not be seen. But now, we refused to listen. We wanted to see the two-legged ones up close. We wanted to know why they were here. What they were doing. How they had come in the boat and gone across the choppy foaming waves.

And finally...a two-legged one approached us. It looked like a young one. Not wearing as much "clothing" as the others. Perhaps female, but we couldn't tell. She peeked around the largest slab of ice and her eyes grew wide. She looked so strange. So...unlike us. Her face was so flat. Her feet so small. "Clothing" bright against the snow.

Her mouth opened and she said something in that strange two-legged language. We chirped in response, but she only looked confused. Perhaps she couldn't understand our language. That was fine. That was exciting.

But then the box came up, and a strange flash erupted from it. We didn't know what was going on. Was she trying to kill us? Hurt us? Destroy our flock? We didn't know. We had refused the wisdom of the elders, and so, anything might happen. We milled about, afraid to go near her now, but equally afraid to take her down and show her that we were not to be trifled with. Our small stature did not equal unwillingness to fight.

Until she held something up in her puffy hand. A frame.

A frame that looked like it held one of us.