Shadewood We are in the war.

Riley grinned as he forded the water. More than once he swung his posterior her way, so she might admire the ample curves of his figure — especially while his fur was wet. Nevermind he looked like a drowned rat as he trawled the river surface.

Just as Masque padded downriver to rest her flank in the coldspring, Riley caught a disturbance by the reeds. He walked towards it carefully, placing one foot gingerly in front of the other, his neck craned in the manner of a heron.

For several passing seconds the only thing that moved was the river around them — then, he dove for the water.

It wasn’t a fish Riley emerged with, but a fat and bulbous bullfrog that had woken from brumation due to the brief lapse in winter weather. He swung the thing back towards Masque, offering it by one dangly leg.