Far out in the deep, quiet ocean, there lived a young whale named Sol.
Sol was big, but not as big as he would one day be. He had a smooth grey back, a wide, friendly mouth, and a voice that did not yet know what it wanted to say.
Every whale in the pod had a job. Aunt Maren led the way through the currents. Old Brin, the eldest, kept the family's long memories. The little ones practised their clicks and whistles.
But Sol did not have a job yet. "What is mine?" he asked his mother one evening.
His mother, huge and gentle, swam close beside him. "You will find it," she said. "But tonight, I want you to listen to something."
They swam up near the surface, where the water turned from deep blue to silver. The sun had set. The sky was full of stars, and the sea was calm.
"Listen," said his mother.
At first, Sol heard nothing. Then, as he held very still, he began to feel it. A slow, deep hum, coming from somewhere far away, so low that it was more like a feeling than a sound.
"What is that?" he whispered.
"That," said his mother, "is the tide song. It is the oldest song in the sea. Every night, somebody hums it, so that the tide knows when to turn, and the water knows when to go home to the shore."
"Who hums it?"
"Whoever is willing."
Sol thought about that. "Could I?"
His mother smiled, with her eyes. "Try."
Sol took a very deep breath. He let it out, slowly, and from somewhere deep inside his chest, a sound came out. Mmmmmmm.
It was wobbly at first. It was too high, too short, too quick. He tried again. Mmmmmmm. And again. Little by little, he found the note. It was deep and round and slow, like the beat of a heart.
All around him, the water began to tremble, very gently. Far away, he felt an answer. Somebody else was humming too. And another. And another, all across the sea, until the water itself was humming, a great, slow chord that rolled in every direction.
And then, without being pushed or pulled, the water moved. Out of the deep, a long, soft wave came sweeping towards the shore, carrying the tide home.
On the beach, many miles away, a little girl sat at the edge of the sand with her father. They had been watching the water for a long time. "It's coming in," said the girl, as the first smooth wave slid up the sand.
"So it is," said her father.
She did not know that, somewhere far away, a young whale had helped to bring it. But she felt, for no reason, very calm.
Out in the deep, Sol kept humming, until his voice grew tired and the tide was safely in. Then he drifted down beside his mother, warm and heavy with sleep.
"Was that a job?" he murmured.
"Yes," said his mother. "It is the oldest and best one there is."
And the great, slow sea rocked him, rocked him, rocked him to sleep.