one of those melodramatic fools

The water grew more and more shallow and soon the quartet had heaved the shark onto dry land. The bastard flipped and flopped, launching itself all over the place. It was dangerous. One could break a tooth or worse. Quill kept his hold on the gills until they had the shark far enough from the waters edge that there was no hope of it returning and breaking free.

Quill released his hold on the fish and danced backwards, urging the others to do the same. Out of the water, the fucker would dry up and die. The marbled brute settled down beneath one of the overhanging pines and licked at his abraded lips. Shark skin was rough.

Quill Quilin Klein