Big Salmon Lake Can I get a connection?

The lake near the Moonspear has good fishing, this time of year. Llewellyn does not let his distaste for the creatures affect his hunting patterns; the pack, too, needs to eat. Bigger game is harder to take down, alone, and fish tend to be more fatty than the odd rabbit or squirrel. He spends a decent amount of time here, stalking the water and watching the ripples. Watching and waiting. That is hunting, in a nutshell, but it applies especially to fishing.

The art of fishing is best undertaken by a patient soul.

He is distracted by movement away from the shore, a blur of brown and white. The prince lifts his head, eyes flashing, and he draws in a deep breath. Speedy. The scent brings her face immediately to mind--and to his alarm, it is tinged with fresh blood, today. Sparing no last thought for the salmon--they will, presumably, be there when he returns--Llewellyn trots quickly after her, coming onto the scene as she struggles with self-healing.

"What happened?" he asks roughly, sparing no time for greeting. His gaze flickers to the gashes on her shoulder, red and raw. There is another smell lining her pelt he cannot place. "Who did this to you?"