The summer light had begun to take on a sharp quality, and the air currents had become more volatile, blustering and cold, indicating that the season was transitioning. Perhaps it had been happening for a while. Ambrose didn't want to admit to himself that he'd failed in his attempts to ingratiate himself and earn the respect of these wolves — not because he didn't like them or anything — it was more like his ego had taken a beating since the bear attack. Ambrose had been keeping to himself more often than he should've been, blaming the recovery. Mostly he was brooding. The thought that he'd lost a bet to Bruges of all people really got under his skin.

However, with his wounds well cared for and some impressive scars to show off, he was back in action. Or rather, more active than he had been the previous week or so. Patrols were always easy for the boy, but he took a new interest in his work and made sure to hit the west and the north edges of the territory before midday; by the time he took his first break the day was almost over, and his belly was grumbling at him.

Ambrose chose to detour along the lakeside. If he was going to get himself something to eat, he wasn't about to tap in to the cache system. He'd much rather find something fresh and stow the rest of it — winter was coming, and all that.

He started to wade in to the shallows. The water felt warm at first but became brisk and cold as each step descended. Ambrose stalked along until the water was up to his elbows and began to peer at the surface around him, watching as the ripples caused by his moseying figure dissipated.

Whether there were fish in the lake or not, he couldn't exactly tell. Everything smelled so strongly like birds that the boy wanted to give up and go back to shore, at least to save himself the task of cleaning off later. He dipped his nose in to the water in anticipation for a nose-dive, but stopped when he heard a voice.

Hey! peeped a youthful stranger, and Ambrose turned his head and forequarter towards the bank where the girl was waiting. Water dribbled off his chin, and he licked his lips to warm them. Hello, he called out to her, and began to wade back to shore. Is this your lake? Ambrose questioned as a warm smile slipped easily across his face.

The bird's lake, huh? He didn't recall seeing many birds, but he was kind of focused on the stuff beneath the surface rather than along the lake's edge; he turned to regard the area with a sweep of his eyes, and saw some distant stick-thin figures among the reeds. Crafty little things weren't they? He turned back in time with her question.

I was fishing. It's sorta like swimming, but not really. And judging by the amount of water in his coat, Ambrose could've been doing either or. He hadn't caught anything worthwhile yet aside from pond scum.