Arrow Lake white snake

She's more towards the RSV side, set a bit away from the Falls :)

She had kept close to the base of the mountains as she travelled, for they provided far more opportunities to shelter out of the bitterly cold weather than the open plains to the east. She crept out of one such cave during the early hours of the morning, silver eyes blinking up at the dreary skies that were tinged with a warm glow from the slowly rising sun. Her stomach rumbled quite suddenly, and Pukei realised her last proper meal had been more than half a moon ago. Mice and berries wouldn't suffice today.

As luck would have it, the direction she headed to find a heartier feed led her directly towards a lake that snaked it's way through the land. The banks were frozen, but the majority of the water had yet to freeze over – surely there'd be something to catch in there!

Further upstream, multiple tall columns of water were tumbling off the mountains and plummeting into the wide lake below. She took a moment to admire the grand sight, before sucking in a breath and wading into the frigid waters, determined to catch herself a fat juicy fish.

Anselm had gone and done what Anselm did best: he’d fucked up.

On the heels of his own self-sabotage, Anselm fled the hollow and found himself in the familiar region of the lakes. He took in the thousands of scents here: each told their own story of the lake's activity, and its visitors.

One such scent stood out: wolf.

Out along the water a shapely form waded. Anselm’s dull gaze tracked her progress. He was too far to see her clearly, but by the attentiveness in which she walked, he knew her purpose.

Anselm inched close, his stomach rumbling as if to remind him of how poorly he’d eaten as of late. He wondered if this wolf would catch anything — and if she did, how easy it might be to persuade her to give it up.

She didn't immediately realise she had an audience at first, too focused on the gently rolling waters. She kept thinking glints of light underneath the surface were of a fish's scales, or the ripples further out was one testing the air topside. Pukei wasn't a practiced hunter – far from it – but she wasn't about to become wet and freezing in vain.

A small splash caught her attention nearby and she surged forth before leaping onto her hind legs not unlike a pouncing fox. She was hoping she had been quick enough but fish were far quicker, and whatever had made the splash was long gone by the time the girl landed front paws first into the chilly waters.

A low groan of annoyance escaped her throat as she quickly reversed back into the shallows, her front-half now thoroughly soaked. Shaking out her thin coat, Pukei cast her gaze back along the bank as if hoping a fish would have materialised there, but was instead met with the sight of a tall stranger. She stared back at him in surprise for a beat before offering a sheepish grin and wave of her tail. "Oh, hello – how long have you been there?"

She pounced.

For his own selfish interests, Anselm prayed she emerge with a struggling fish in her jaws.

Instead, she arose with nothing but the bitter taste of being bested by a fish.

Anselm's lip twitched in schadenfreude. His tail canted ever so slightly to the left as she turned around and was caught by surprise.

Her voice and disposition was far sunnier than his own, which regarded her in the contemplative way a thief studies their mark. Her usefulness was directly tied to her ability to hunt, and Anselm wasn't going to befriend any old stranger. Just long enough to see you are not a good fisher.

He regarded her with a deep, orange gaze; it was hard to discern what exactly he thought of her failed fishing attempt – at least until he verbalised his thoughts. She released a quiet chuff in mock offence before laughing, his stony demeanour doing nothing to sour her own. "Oof, rude."

Yet it was the truth. Pukei was very much a forager over a hunter. She hadn't the size nor the experience to take down prey much larger than a hare, and preferred nosing through the sweet scent of shrubbery, anyway. Though a life lived solely on berries and plants would be a very short one for a wolf, she would think.

"Apologies if you were looking for a show, you're more than welcome to take the spotlight," she offered then, theatrically bowing as an invite for him to take his own stab at fishing.

Anselm deserved to be smacked, but the woman’s sense of humor was much better than his own — she took his jab gracefully. 

She bowed, concentric rings of water pulsing away from the movement of her body. Anselm watched as the surface rippled away. 

She was teasingly pleasant - a better man might have seen an opportunity to banter alongside her. Anselm was too sour to contemplate niceties. Not a show. He motioned the the dark water behind her. Vas looking for a meal. He made no bid to hide his offsetting demeanor.

Pausing mid-bow, Pukei's cheery countenance faltered slightly for a moment as he flatly shot down her request. Well, there went that fun. What a right stick in the mud. She studied his stern features for a brief second, wondering if something had happened in his life to make him this way or had he – as her mother had put it – simply just been born on the wrong side of the den?

Straightening, the girl retreated out of the water with a shake of a forepaw. "You and me both," she said, biting her tongue before adding buddy onto the end, figuring he probably wouldn't appreciate the pet name. "You picked the wrong wolf to pin your hopes onto." Clearly. "But hey if you know of any better spots for a chance at a meal, I'm all ears!"

Though, considering he was implying he wanted to share her catch – or worse – she wasn't holding much hope for a solid suggestion.

Anselm caught the way the stranger's face faltered. For a split second, he felt sorry for being the author of such doubt -- but then he remembered he was burnt out on people, and who was to say he'd ever see her again?

She left the water, trailing splatters of riverwater in her wake. He thought she might be leaving - he certainly would have if he'd been addressed in such a way -- but instead, she tacked on something that invited Anselm's attention.

Just before he'd approached her, Anselm had picked up on the scent of beaver. Theirs was a strange scent; waterlogged and damp like firetail seaweed, with a faintly bitter musk to them.

There is a creek up that vay, where the beavers are fat and slow. There is a lodge -- they hide in it, but two volves make short vork of splinter-houses.

Well, what did you know! He did have a suggestion! That'd teach her to assume the worst. Pukei's ears shot up excitedly at his mention of a creek up ahead with some fat, tasty beavers. "Well, say less!" she responded, cheery demeanour returning just as quickly as it had faltered. They were much easier to catch than stupid fish.

She began to trot along the shoreline towards the man, swinging a foreleg outwards in invitation. "Lead the way, mister!"

Pukei’a sunny disposition returned almost immediately. Anselm’s residual guilt faded away, replaced with grim determination. 

This vay. He announced, picking up an easy lope that carried them up the embankment and towards a quiet creek.

It took some time for him to confirm the direction of the scents; some made for the creek, but others trailed along the embankment. He even found a fresh deposit of scat -- no doubt from a beaver just hours before.

He slowed as they neared, motioning with a paw towards the tranquil scene: dark and undisturbed still-water edged out for acres. Swamp-trees fought for their existence, though most had been cut down by excising teeth. 

Several hundred meters from where they stood, a large lodge rose from the creek bed and cast its reflection across the blackwater.

Obediently, she followed the man, the stern look on his face enough to keep Pukei's yapping at a minimum for once. While she wasn't a seasoned hunter, she knew well enough that the beavers would scatter the moment they heard two predators approach, and she didn't want to ruin her only chance at a solid meal for the first time in weeks. She also didn't want to disappoint her newfound company. Despite his severe demeanour, she really was grateful for his help.

As they came across the lodge and he gestured towards it, Pukei couldn't help but let out a hushed, "woah, it's 'uge!" How long had they been building their home – and more importantly, how many lived within?

"What's the plan, my man?" she asked, lowering her voice as much as she could as she looked to her gruff hunting partner.

Anselm could not help the way his eyes cut to her sharply as she spoke. Had she never seen a lodge before?

He hunkered down between the rough blades of grass, motioning for her to crawl alongside him. They are fast swimmers. They will see us and swim avay. But that -- He pointed to the hodgepodge of sticks and vegetation; that is vhere our dinner is. You dive undervater and can trap them in the cavern vithin.

Several more steps and he was close to the bank. Somewhere nearby he heard the soft chirrup of a beaver.

He turned back. Ready?

She did not miss his look, and her ears fell back apologetically before again following his lead as the man crept quietly through the grass. Her gaze turned back to the lodge as he explained the game plan, listening with genuine interest. Her natal pack were field and forest hunters, sustaining themselves on the elk that lived there, and Pukei herself often only watched the hunts, lacking the size and skill – and, if she was being honest, the initiative – to participate.

Huh, maybe that's why they weren't too upset when she dispersed.

Focusing back on the task at hand, she nodded at his cue, gaze set on the still waters before the lodge and bracing in preparation. "Ready!"

Oh, vonne more thing. Anselm paused from creeping to give Pukei a long look. She had nodded and confirmed she was ready, but was she prepared? They fight back.

Turning to the water, Anselm kept his ears strained for the tell-tale sign of activity. He approached and was spotted; one beaver set off the alarm by the rough slap of their tail atop the water.

The noise served as ricochet. It caused everything within a small radius to scatter, including the heads of several beavers Anselm had not seen until they moved.

He burst into a lope, running into the water until he was abreast of it. The beavers ahead had already dived underwater. No doubt to hide in the very lodge that he and Pukei aimed for.

Now his head was the only thing cresting the water as he padded in strong kicks. Climb on top of the lodge, try to pull back the sticks. Anselm grit between his teeth, ears flat against his head as he prepared to dive under water.

They fight back. She returned his look with an eager, toothy grin. What prey wouldn't fight back when their home was set upon by vicious predators? But the two of them could take them on, she was sure of it.

Pukei shadowed the man as he stalked towards where the creatures casually went about their day, until their presence was suddenly noted. All at once, the chain reaction of prey animals alerting the rest of the group was set off. The once still waters became a hive of activity and her hunting partner propelled himself strongly through the stream before shouting an order.

"Got it!" she responded, leaping into the water herself with bounding jumps. Upon reaching the lodge, she scampered atop the pile of carefully stacked twigs and sticks, not caring to be gentle about it. Sorry beavers, but the demolition squad had arrived! Without even stopping to shake out her sodden coat, the girl fervently tore into the roof of the structure, flinging clumps of mud wildly into the air behind her as she worked to expose their hiding place.

Anselm coursed alongside his new hunting partner, the vigor of the hunt in his blood. They galloped in tandem briefly before he was fully abreast of the water; after several paddles he pinned his ears to his skull, took a deep breath, and dived under. 

The first thing he noticed was one could not scent underwater; holding his breath, and not being immersed in the colorful scents of the world was an alien concept to him. He felt oddly stricken without the familiar sense to aid him. 

He opened his eyes underwater, to a vision of murkiness and shadows. Green slants of light illuminated the mouth of the lodge and he paddled towards it desperately, already feeling the burning of his lungs and construction of his head. 

Movement darted past him — the silhouette of a beaver with surprising swim speed. 

Paddling under the den mouth, he realized he could barely fit — he broke the surface with a gasp, clawing along the bank while shapes scurried past him. Overhead he heard the clatter of sticks being dismantled and mud flung — sunlight began to pierce through in bright pylons. 

He saw a beaver towards the edge and lunged for it, unaware that just feet from it was a secondary exit situated for exactly this purpose.