Heron Lake Plateau Cut my teeth on wedding rings

Aeronwyn wade silently into the water's of the lake, starting a Heron into flight. It flapped over the surface of the lake, quickly disappearing into the heavy fog laid like a blanket over the still water. This morning she had set out earlier, and come to the edge of a lake she had always skirted around before. But now, as she drink from the clear waters, she marvelled at the mysterious feel the lake held in the early morning, almost completely still and silent, the motionless lack of noise so thick it was palatable. 

She did not break the silence, slipping further into the waters with the learned feline grace she employed often, stormy eyes and pale, cloudlike coat blending in well with the fog and pale waters, the sky overhead grey with the morning's first light, the colour show that was sunrise not yet begun.

Hope you don't mind me jumping in :-)

The morning dawned dull as a misty blanket draped over the Isle as if the clouds themselves had paid them a visit. Hunger had drawn him out of his hollow, his recent exploration into the twisted depths of the shadowed forest having boosted his confidence in travelling beyond the borders of Arthendal. He crossed the river in his usual haphazard strokes, hauling his drenched body out onto the opposite bank with a light huff, his ears pricking back as he listened to the goings on of his fellows. He banished the thoughts of turning back now, instead forcing his paws to head south towards a great body of water on the near horizon, this also cloaked in an early dawn mist.

The silence was certainly different to the natural hum of the forest, drawing a sense of peace and serenity to land that lay before his honeyed pools. He slid into a steady lope as he neared the lake, it's waters a mysterious silver in the grey dawn light and he slowed to a slow trot as his paws dusted the shingle that surrounded the shore. The mist had dampened the trails of scents that usually crisscrosses the ground and he cursed inwardly, his ears pricked and eyes wide as he scanned the terrain for even the slightest of movements. Yet the being that caught his attention was not that of prey, but rather the ghost-like silhouette of a wolf, barely distinguishable amongst the fog. "Who goes there?" he barked, his voice echoing across the flat expanse of water, unaware that the canid that roamed this land was a comrade.

The silence was a wonderful relief to the noisy summer, and relaxed, the wraith closed her eyes a moment, relaxing further in the quiet morning. But the thick silence was broken before long, and, sighing softly, she recognized the voice of Shink. She wasn't upset with him, only that her quite morning seemed to be over. By his tone, it was obvious that he didn't recognize her, perhaps the thick fog obscured her from view. An idea came to her, and she suddenly, silently, slipped into the water without a word. she pushed off against the bottom until she could no longer reach it, then she swam, long strides pulling her silently along, her head just above the water. To the casual observer, such as Shink, it would have appeared that the wolf had suddenly disappeared into the water. 

When she was quick a distance from where she had been, and closer to Shink, she approached the shore until her paws barely touched sand. Then, slurred and low, she let out a howl; so twisted and broken it did not even sound familiar to her own ears.  

She wondered if Shink believed in ghosts.

He continued to gaze at the pale figure across the lake, his posture a poised stance as his tassel made swirling motions behind him, held proudly as if confronting a stranger. Not a ripple stirred the glassy surface as he awaited s response from the mysterious being. When none came, his fur began to prickle with unease, the silence becoming unsettling, the fog beginning to seem more like a cloak of dread than the early morning mist. His copper gaze was still locked upon the pale figurine as her form disappeared into the depths of the waves, earning a wide-eyed look of horror from the yearling as he stepped back from the shore.

With a confused whine, the agouti boy let his tail droop to hang between his legs, his ears folding back to brush against his scalp whilst all the while keeping his focus locked upon the place where the figure had vanished. The fog must have obscured his vision, played tricks on his mind for a wolf could not have faded so quickly into the water without a prick of sound being heard. Was it a spirit perhaps? Embodied within the framework of a creature as white as the stars themselves? With the fur along the back of his spine beginning to rise up, the boy stood stock still hoping that whatever it was would make its presence known.

A deep cry rang off to his side, much closer than the White figure had been and he jarred his head, banner whipping beneath his belly as his pools widened with fright. Spirits didn't exist, he told himself. Though he was beginning to have doubts about that now.