The morning sun glimmered over Lake Tahoe, painting silver streaks across the surface as Poseidon’s Edge revved the boat engine. Storm Surger leaned casually in the observer’s seat, mirrored shades catching the light, while Wake Razor stayed back on the dock, chatting with a cluster of locals about spray angles and boat wakes.

Out on the ski line was Wake Blazer. He leaned into his first cut, carving the water with reckless flair. Spray fanned out behind him like crystal fireworks. But on his second hard turn—WHAM! A seagull swooped just too low, and the collision sent Wake Blazer tumbling spectacularly into the drink.

Storm Surger was doubled over laughing in the boat. Poseidon’s Edge shook his head, grinning. “Man, you don’t see that every day.” From the dock, Wake Razor shouted, “Did he just take out a bird mid-ski?!”

Wake Blazer sputtered to the surface, water dripping from his hair. “I’m okay! IF you know what I mean…”

By sheer determination, he strapped back in and got up again, gliding through the chop until his run was done. When he finally looped back toward the dock, Wake Razor was waiting with a wide grin.

But just then—a black cloud swooped overhead. A murder of crows settled onto the dock railing, wings flapping, heads cocked. Two of them strutted forward, their feathers glistening with an uncanny sheen.

One of them cawed sharply, then spoke in a raspy voice: “We saw what you did out there! Did that gull hit you—or did you hit the gull?”

Wake Blazer blinked. “Whoa, talking birds?”

The first crow gave a dramatic bow. “Name’s Inkwing.” The second tipped his head. “And I’m Cinderbeak.”

Wake Razor crossed his arms, suspicious but intrigued. “Talking crows, huh? You two friends of the lake or something?”

“Oh, we’re friends of the skies, docks, and mischief everywhere,” Inkwing croaked proudly. “But tell us,” Cinderbeak leaned closer, “how does one waterski without wings? It looks impossible.”

Wake Blazer chuckled. “It’s all about balance, speed, and holding on tight. IF you know what I mean…” Storm Surger called from the boat: “And style! Don’t forget style!” Poseidon’s Edge raised a finger: “And a good driver.”

The crows cawed with curiosity, asking about skis, ropes, and whether a bird could actually ride behind a boat. Wake Razor smirked, picturing a crow gripping a handle with its claws.

Then Cinderbeak grew serious. His voice dropped. “Say, did you guys know there are a couple of Sasquatch roaming these parts? Have you seen them?”

Wake Blazer’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, y’know, I thought I saw one! Do you… know them?”

Inkwing ruffled his feathers. “We know them. Seen them plenty.” Cinderbeak gave a grave nod. “They’re big, quiet, and not always friendly. If you ever see one up close… walk away. Don’t test your luck.”

The dock fell quiet for a moment, the water lapping softly against the pilings.

Wake Blazer whistled low. “Well… that’s good to know. IF you know what I mean…”