Otter Creek among the chestnut trees of Mamre

He made no accommodation for her in his pace, even after realizing that she was slowly pattering after him. He returned to the creek, pausing briefly at its bank. He had just gotten over the chill settled in the lower half of his body from his first cross of the water, and in remembering this his hesitance was born. Warbone's body objected, but his will was famously obstinate and he sloshed through the melted creek, gritting his teeth and splashing as little as possible so that his face wasn't affected. Once on the opposing bank, the gladiator splayed all four feet and shook in massive twists, each limb quivering free of any excess water. He turned then sidelong then, angling his gaze back out over the creek. He wondered if she would cross.

Perhaps not all hope was lost with the scarce beauty.