Big Salmon Lake don't go, jason waterfalls

He needed to pay a visit to his daughters soon. After all, standing here, he was more than halfway there—why not just close the gap? 

Every excuse rang hollow: Amalia was pregnant (not far along enough to worry too much), Treepie was probably still upset with him (but perhaps she always would be?), he had a pack to run (and with what recruits?).

He ought to just go. And yet, he was here, watching the fish teeming in the shallows.

Killdeer was mesmerized by their movement, head tilted slightly. If he couldn't summon the gumption to go to Moonspear, then at least he could catch a meal or two to take back to the caldera.

He wasn't great at fishing. Teya, his father's last wife, had given him a lesson, once. Killer closed his eyes, attempting to summon her wisdom, and found a deep peace upon the lakeshore—the gentle sounds of birds singing and water rippling. 

A small smile touched his muzzle as he prepared to make his first move.

He had never gone this far west, had certainly never attempted to cross the mountains. But toiling up the flank of Shadow Mountain drove all thoughts from Cambria’s head. He felt nothing but the burn of his muscles as he climbed up, up, up, then down, down, down its far side. The descent was more taxing then the ascent. Cambria practically tumbled into the hollow below, collapsing in an exhausted heap with Wyvern circling overhead.

The following day, he scaled the crags nestled between Spotted Eagle Mountain to the north and Sawtooth Spire to the south. The Dragonling was sore, yet he he kept pushing himself until the ground grew flat and green beneath his paws. He soaked his aching muscles in Otter Creek, then made his way into the forest over yonder. He sank to the ground and fell asleep in seconds.

He could barely move the day after that. Cambria limped slowly westward, his eyes sweeping the prairies on all sides as he aimed for a distant stretch of woods. Just before he hit its edge, the glint of sunlight on water drew his attention. The Dragonling veered, the nighthawk’s shadow preceding him as he approached a scenic lake, its southern shore fringed with trees.

And there was a wolf there, a darker shadow against the backdrop of spring’s finest greenery. Cambria puffed out a breath as he rolled to a halt on the eastern bank, eyeing the stranger in the distance. He looked like he was trying to concentrate, so the Dragonling didn’t call any attention to himself. He had no desire to socialize anyway. He would grab a drink, then melt into the trees.

A familiar cry pierced the air, drawing his attention upward as Wyvern folded her wings to herself and dove, her body cutting through the air at what seemed like warp speed. Cambria’s pale ears flicked at the familiar sound, followed by a small splash. And then she was flapping skyward again, a small fish flopping in her talons.

He wouldn't have clocked the other wolf had the bird not swooped down for fish. Killdeer's eyes lit upon her in intrigue, then shifted to light upon the pale man. With a smile of greeting, he abandoned his task and padded along the lakeshore toward the stranger.

There's good fishing in these waters, he remarked. That bird knows, at least. The nighthawk in question remained close—

Strangely close, actually. He watched her warily from the corner of his eye. 

I'm Killdeer, he introduced himself. I have a pack nearby. How about yourself? If Cambria was standoffish, he hadn't yet noticed.

The nighthawk disappeared among the foliage of a nearby tree, her feathers blending in well with the winding boughs. Cambria didn’t bother trying to pinpoint her location, particularly when he saw the wolf making an approach. He stiffened, wishing he could just disappear into the verdure as Wyvern had done. But he did not boast her camouflage and, besides, it was just too late.

The stranger seemed quite cordial. The Dragonling shifted his weight, maintaining a neutral expression and posture as he remarked about the local fishing. Just because he didn’t want to get close to anyone didn’t mean he couldn’t have a light conversation here and there, Cambria reminded himself.

But he found he just wasn’t in the mood today. So instead of making small talk with the male—Killdeer, he said—Cambria just cocked his head quizzically. He had known many nonverbal wolves, particularly on the rise. Pretending to be one of them, he offered what he hoped sounded like an inquisitive grumble.

Okay, now he'd noticed. The pale wolf said nothing, only looked at him in. . .well, not confusion. Apathetic inquiry?

Cat got your tongue? Killdeer asked, and regretted it instantly. What the fuck was that? he chided himself. Maybe the man was deaf like his Gramma, and hadn't heard him properly. Though he supposed in that case, the question would have fallen on deaf. . .ears. . .

Aw, shit.

He dipped his nose toward the water. Fish, he went on, enunciating the word clearly. You here to fish?

And then, maybe the man wasn't deaf, and he was treating a stranger like a complete imbecile, which would be just absolute fucking perfection.

Just because he didn’t want to get close to anybody didn’t mean Cambria wanted to be a jerk. He watched the stranger struggle with his lack of response and felt his jaw clench with a sudden flush of guilt. He didn’t want to keep up the charade, though how was he going to explain himself?

In lieu of any clever exposition, the Dragonling simply replied, No, and then paused before saying, and I’m socially awkward, which wasn’t too far from the truth. Not good at small talk, he added with a very real grimace. But my name is Cambria and I don’t live around here.

He didn’t technically live anywhere specifically. He’d made that mistake once and wouldn’t be making it again. Cambria blew out a breath, well aware that he should inquire about Killdeer’s pack. But he really couldn’t care less and definitely wanted to avoid the possibility of an awkward recruitment attempt.

He let out a small sigh of relief as the man finally spoke, admitting to being a bit shy. He still felt like kind of an ass, but at least the matter had been sorted.

Nice to meet you, Cambria! My daughter's the same way, Killdeer replied, smiling. She always gets right down to business. Meanwhile, I talk way too much—I'm pretty sure that's worse.

He took a step back, then another, bowing his head in slight apology. I'll get out of your hair, he told the other wolf. If solitude was what Cambria wanted, Killdeer didn't want to spoil that. Pleasure to meet you—and good luck with the fishing.

Before departing the lakeshore, his eyes cast toward the direction of the Moonspear. He really ought to. . .

No. Just like Cambria, Treepie probably wanted to be left alone for a while. He would visit eventually, but not now. Instead, he pointed his muzzle toward home—unless the self-described socially-awkward man had anything else to add.

Social conventions commanded him to call after Killdeer and at least exchange a few pleasantries, especially since he seemed like a pretty nice dude. His lips parted as the other male turned to leave, but he pressed them together, as it made no sense to force a conversation at this point.

Ah, take care, he offered, feeling like a heel.

But then he was alone again, which was what he wanted—maybe even needed—right now. He crept backward into the trees, eager to avoid being spotted by any more curious pairs of eyes, and occupied himself by attempting to locate the feeding Wyvern.