The kraken liked to rise from the depths of the ocean and try and count the stars. She was up to over two million, and she had only covered an eighth of the night sky. Her eyes, wide and unknowable, would search the vast panorama of cold light, finding the barest spark in the velvet darkness and naming it.
Her tentacles fanned out around her, forming a halo in the gentle swells, her body a indistinct silhouette in the silver moonlight. Killer whales kept her company at times; squids and octopuses occasionally clinging to their sleek backs and rigid dorsal fins as they broke he placid calm of the surface. They would tread water at a respectable distance, their immense regard for the ancient sea creature lending them a patience they were not known for.
Their hard earned patience would be rewarded. After a period of silence broken only by the waves breaking against their still forms, the kraken began to sing. The sound that issued forth from her beak was almost higher than even whales could hear. It oscillated, high then low, so low it vibrated the atoms of their bones.
She wanted her song to reach the stars. She had been named by them so long ago that she could hardly remember it. Masina, they called her. Moon because she was as pale as the moon. Her skin was a milky grey, her eyes as deep as the multitude of craters dotting her namesake. The others would sometimes join in, the orca with their mournful song, the octopus and squid moving their tentacles and bodies in ways that mimicked the movements of the planets.
She waited, breathless, for the stars to reply. Night after night, she sang her song in the hopes that this night would be different.
Maybe this night they would answer.
Maybe this night they would take her home.