rock-bowlder

Updated: June 3, 2025

How many sleeping birds, wounded, tired, or unalert, die at his hands, or, rather, his teeth, in the course of a year would amaze anybody if known, and the shell-fish he relieves of life are legion. The hard, horny carapace of a retreating crab scraped, in the dead silence, against the rock-bowlder on which the skua sat.

F. St. Mars - The Way of the Wild