Fishblight Mire ✢ Sɨnɨɨh

AW!

the river licked at his ankles, cold as glacier melt and just as quick to bite. coväh stood half-submerged, shoulders still, ears twitching only when the water broke beside him.
morning mist curled along the surface like breath from the earth itself, wrapping the banks in silver thread. above, the trees leaned in, gossiping low with wind-swayed branches. his coat clung damp against his frame, but he didn’t shiver. he was too focused.
there. a flick of silver scale.
his weight shifted. one paw hovered above the gravel bed, poised mid-air. he exhaled slow through his nose, muscles tight with patience.
he’d already missed three. the fish were fast this time of year—fat with spring feed, clever with their zig-zag dodges. but coväh was clever too.
a shadow slipped beneath the surface, and without thinking, he lunged—front paws slapping down, muzzle plunging after the gleam of movement—
splash.
water flew like shattered glass.
and coväh surfaced, shaking his head, water dripping from his chin.
no fish. again.

I will steal this hehe

The dunes had given her nothing; no glimmering palaces, no whisper of a kingdom lost to time. So, north she went. Foolish, perhaps, for a woman born of sun and sand to seek refuge in the land of cold, but Shiruyeh had never been one to yield to reason when curiosity called her elsewhere. And besides, spring had begun to ease the worst of winter’s bite.
Yet, even in this milder season, the morning air pricked at her skin, the mist curling around her limbs like ghostly hands. She should have been south, basking in golden heat. Instead, she wandered here, where the air was thick with damp earth and the scent of pine; then, the river.
She stopped, ears pricking forward as the scene unfolded before her. A man, tan and broad, waded into the waters, his focus sharp. Hunting, fishing; whatever it was, Shiruyeh could see at a glance that he was utterly failing at it. She watched, amusement glinting in her eyes, as he plunged beneath the surface. A moment passed. He emerged, victorious in nothing but his own misfortune, empty-pawed and dripping.
A smirk curled upon her lips before she could stop it, and when a laugh finally slipped free, it was light, teasing, edged with mischief. „Such a skilled fisherman,” she mocked, her voice honeyed, playful.
She was not certain yet if he was amusing enough to endure the damp and the dirt, but he had, at the very least, made her pause. And that was worth something.

coväh blinked water from his lashes, ears flicking toward the sound of laughter. he knew mocking when he heard it—tone needed no translation.
he squinted at the woman on the bank, sun-colored and watching him with a smirk. the river clung to his coat in rivulets, and still, his pride held fast.
mm, he huffed, accent thick. funny for you, not for me.
his grin came slow, lopsided. he stepped from the river, shoulders broad and dripping. snowmelt clung to his chest, steam rising as spring warmed the air.
he pointed a paw back at the water. fish… quick. i am slow. a beat, then a shrug. but pretty woman? distract good.
his brow lifted, teasing, playful—yet plainly earnest. you laugh… but you come close, no? a flick of his tail, a step nearer. you try.

Her laughter faded, if only for a moment, as she watched the man rise from the water. Her gaze traced over him, slow and deliberate, a faint flicker dancing behind golden eyes. His accent was thick, unmistakable, yet not at all unpleasant; rather, it intrigued her. He was rough, unrefined, his speech fractured like weathered stone. But if his movements were slow, his mind was anything but.
„Ah, yes, the fish would surely be captivated by my beauty and charm,” she mused, rolling her shoulders with lazy elegance. A slow sweep of her tongue over her paw followed, smoothing the wayward strands that dared to defy her poise. „Though, I suspect the fish would not be the only ones distracted.” A teasing wink punctuated her words.
With effortless grace, she stretched out onto her side, lashes fluttering in feigned innocence. „Me?” A tilt of her head, the very picture of confusion. „I’ll leave that to you.” There was no world in which she would sully herself for a mere fish.
„Go on, then. Try again.” A smirk ghosted her lips as she gestured toward the water. „Perhaps I’ll help by distracting them… if that makes it any easier for you.”

ha! a bark of laughter. he shook out his coat with a boyish huff, water spraying in arcs. you? distract fish? they drown, maybe. forget swim. poor little things.
his accent was rough, numic-born, frayed in all the right places—like sunlight through mountain cloth, charmingly offbeat. the cadence of a man who had never been rushed in his life.
is good thing i not fish, he added with a wink, tail swaying with a teasing swagger. you wink, i sink.
he padded closer to shore, dripping but unbothered, tossing a look toward her sprawled elegance.
you sit pretty. i go again. a pause. but if i drown, you pull me, yes? not let big strong hunter go cold in river, mm?
then, with a flourish of bravado, he turned back to the water, throwing her a wink over his shoulder. watch close, beauty. this time, i catch monster.