Gelaquad

It cruises the mid-water on powerful, deliberate pulses of its fourfold bell, trailing meters of stinging thread that form a net few things can slip. It feeds on whatever that curtain gathers, from schooling fish to the occasional careless swimmer, and it wastes nothing. Its light is its language: slow waves of glow ripple across the bell in patterns that other Gelaquad answer across a whole cove, a luminous conversation carried out over distances and, apparently, at leisure, since a creature this large and this well-defended has all the time in the world.