Heron Lake Plateau nous sommes l'emeraude

Her father's assumption would have been right—in another month, she would have indeed been hanging off of the fish tail with little consideration. Life had its difficulties as it was, and with three other contenders to all things good in the world, it came on instinct alone that she would have to be somewhat assertive in order to seize things. The tasty things, anyway. Quick steps followed Quixote's lead all the same however, and soon she was at the source of the very fishy, fishy fish.

Whatever vocalizing she had been doing ceased at once as she took to investigating it; her nose pressed against the slimy outer skin and scales from head to tail first, before her tongue made a cursory examination. It was enough to make her withdraw a step in confusion at the texture—it was a strange thing, not so fleshy as she had once thought however brief.

And her mom was going to eat this?

Her gaze flashed to dear old dad, once again questioning.

She could have tried to snatch it, but... an imploring whine would do. For now.