Whitebark Stream i don't know where i'm going but i just keep moving on

@Gjalla

it has not been long since her arrival. she is unsure, hesitant-- so when blackfell suggests she go fishing, she does so without waiting for him. perhaps if she brings back enough, he will be impressed.

she sits by the river, crouched, blue eyes owl-wide. she is a good tracker, a decent hunter. but a fisher...? she has never even tried before now. as she swats clumsily at the water, soaking her forelimbs, she is suddenly grateful that blackfell is not there to see her fail. time and time again she misses her mark, frustration growing in the form of a sulking scowl.

she snaps at the water with her jaws, sputtering and coughing when it backfires in the form of icy river water up both nostrils. ew.

gjalla had not meant to linger. not really. she had come upon the girl by chance, lingering at the river’s edge with her head hung over the water. she'd learn it to be an attempt at fishing when the girl snapped at the water like a half-starved mongrel, only to recoil violently as it surges up her nose.

she stands at the treeline, half-shadowed, blue eyes sharp as they track the child's every awkward movement. a sharp, undignified snort leaves the bloodhunter before she can help it, an amused breath she quickly stifles. she steps forward, padding toward the water’s edge.

"you are embarrassing yourself, child," she grimaces, rounding the yearlings back to stand a few feet from her side. she is not cruel, only blunt, voice laced with a mild disbelief; “have you never fished before?” she questions, though it is already obvious.

her hackles raise defensively, lip curling as a stranger approaches her from behind. just as quickly, however, her fur lays flat, for the one approaching her has not an air of ill intent about her. quite the contrary. she seems to be stifling her own amusement.

"no, i have never fished. where i come from the water is home only to small minnows. too fast to catch and not worth a meal." she steps back with dripping maw and stinging nose, inquisitive in spite of her failure.

"the fish here are larger. i thought they might be easier...but it seems they are just as quick." she sits away from the shore, her eyes on the stranger. she smells familiar, although ishmira is sure they have not met before. blackfell's scent clings to her skin. if they are friends, perhaps this woman is worth trusting.

"will you teach me? ..please?"

gjalla debates leaving her then and there—to sink or swim is the way of the world, but she does not. her lover's scent clings to the girl, lingering, and so she feels responsible.

with a slow exhale, she steps beside her, lowering herself into a crouch. her sharp blue gaze locks onto the river, where silver shapes dart beneath the surface. 

“you are moving too much,” she says, without looking at the girl. “you will never catch anything like that.” a pause. “watch.” 

she waits, poised like a coiled spring—silent, focused, patient. the moment a flash of silver moves beneath the surface, she strikes. her paw darts in, quick as a snake, scooping the fish out of the water in a single motion. it flops wildly against the stones before she silences it with a bite.

only then does she glance at the girl, expectant. “try again.”

watch, the woman orders, and ishmira does as she is told, blue eyes fixed upon the taller female as she crouches, mimicking her stance from afar.

quickly, she realizes what she has been doing wrong-- she has been hunting fish as if they are rabbits, rushing in mouth first, and her shadow above the water has given her away. when her time comes again she does her best to remember, sitting still as if she is little more than a stone at the water's edge...and it works. the fish swim by her as if she is not there at all. she swipes at one with a paw, a little clumsy, but gazes proudly up at gjalla as her prize writhes upon the shore. she stills it with a bite, grimacing at the unfamiliarity of the taste. it is strangely cold, for a thing that was alive only moments ago.

the girl is clumsy, still slow, but she listens. she adjusts, learning from her mistakes rather than repeating them. she is not as precise as she could be, but it is effective. the fish lands upon the shore, thrashing wildly, and the girl wastes no time in ending its struggle. 

gjalla does not praise her. instead, she tilts her head, sharp eyes assessing. “better,” she acknowledges, but it is hesitant. “you are stiff. if you hesitate, you will miss your mark.” 

despite the statement, there is something almost like approval in her gaze, an admiration for her willingness to learn. it keeps her interested enough to stay. 

amusement flits across her face—brief but present—as the girl grimaces.

“you will get used to it,” she murmurs, dragging her tongue across her maw. she glances once more at the river, where more fish lurk beneath the surface. “again. tell me your name,” she instructs.

"ishmira." the girl beams, a crooked grin snaking across her face. if this woman is blackfell's, it will serve her well to earn the lady's favor. she drops again to her belly, lengthy fur brushing the thick ferns at the river's edge. the white wolf creeps forward, each step calculated. with the older woman's guidance she appears more sure of herself, calm.

she lays very still, hardly daring to blink as silver shapes whirl past. then she loves in a flash, one dainty paw darting beneath the surface. she dumps the writhing silver creature upon the bank, stilling it with a bite, and turns to her teacher expectantly.

gjalla’s eyes narrow—though not in displeasure. The girl’s name clings to her mind, curling like smoke. ishmira. the child’s grin is wide and crooked, bright enough to draw the slightest twitch from the corner of Gjalla’s mouth—almost a smile, but not quite. the girl's eagerness is transparent, clear as glass, but gjalla does not fault her for it. she watches in silence as the white yearling creeps forward again.

the strike is with newfound precision—a clean sweep of her paw, smooth and swift. the fish flails upon the bank, and ishmira dispatches it with a swift bite. 

“good,” praise, given plainly. she steps closer, paw pressing against the limp fish, pinning it down as she examines it. “cleaner,” she notes. “you kept your shadow off the water. that is important.” her gaze flicks to ishmira then, searching. “fish are not like rabbits. they are faster than they look. they will always see you before you see them if you are careless.” 

gjalla steps back, lifting her paw from the fish. “you are his. blackfell's,” she says at last, an assumption that leaves no room for argument, regardless of its truth.  “i am gjalla. a friend of his,” close enough, she thinks.

“you may have that one,” she offers with a small nod to the fish, as if bestowing a gift. “but if you wish to impress blackfell…” Her gaze lingers on the river. “you will need to bring him more than one.”