Maika`i Mano...тнє gσσ∂ ѕнαяк
He had to admit: From below, it was quite obvious how some sharks mistook human surfers for seals or turtles. The silhouette was, in some cases, rarely distinguishable. However, for the great white who had (unsuccessfully) approached many humans in his time, the difference was evident enough. To a juvenile shark or shark whose judgment was clouded by hunger, perhaps not. Not to say that it was ever deliberate to attack a human- Ah, he was getting too deep into his thoughts once again.
Bruce flicked his caudal fin, causing his massive steel-blue, streamlined body to ascended towards the surfer perched atop the board, waiting obliviously on the surface for the next wave.
Now, the great white’s definition of a successful approach towards a human meant the human didn’t swim away screaming. Or cursing. Or alternatively, throwing a violent punch to his sensitive snout before fleeing. A successful approach was one such that the human actually got to know the shark. That he wasn’t a mindless killer. That sharks, like him, weren’t monsters.
But of the moment, that event hadn’t occurred.
At least perhaps until now.
He broke the surface quietly, gently; his enormous head rising above the water, the human’s back turned towards him. So far, so good.
Letting a large grin spread across his scarred lips, Bruce gave a bellowing greeting.