Whitefish River Broken halos that used to shine

@Morgan (dated for after the Shadewood wolves have arrived) rolled a 3 for success

She'd watched the raccoon for days. 

It was a plump river-dweller: a large male of his kind that had spent the summer gorging and defending his bend of the river. Each day, as shadows lengthened and dusk woke the nocturnal creatures, the raccoon crept from his warren and made for his favorite fishing spot. 

It was a calm, shallow bend that deepened towards the middle but the masked weasel never swam out. He preferred to snatch small, silvery fish from the banks where he could easily wash his meal without getting his pelt unnecessarily wet. 

The tundrian had spent her afternoon capturing a few minnows herself and placed them just a few inches from the creek - right where the river king would see them as he settled in to hunt. She crept into the brush, hunkering out of sight as she waited for the raccoon to emerge. 

As the sun began to set, her target appeared - waddling to the bank. He stopped when he noticed the pile of fish, tiptoeing forward to sniff at it hesitantly. After a moment's investigation, he seemed to deem the offering as safe and scurried to the water's edge to dunk a fish. 

The healer rose halfway, her breath caught in her lungs, waiting poised until the raccoon had fully turned his back to her. 

The fae launched across the short distance, closing the gap in a few powerful strides. The raccoon, having no way out, panicked and backed halfway into the water as it turned to attack her. The huntress crashed into him, jaws sliding and snapping shut around the beast's neck as soon as she realized it was actually in her grasp. 

They toppled into the water - raccoon squirming viciously, clawing at her chest and biting her ears, wolf squeezing with all her might. Something in the raccoon's throat snapped silently under her bite as she crushed harder, grinding her fangs - its windpipe perhaps - and the river king fell limp. 

The northron burst from the water, dragging the fat weasel behind her. She dropped it on the pebbly shore and flopped onto her haunches to catch her breath - dark gazing wandering over the raccoon and fishes, thinking of all the work yet to be done.