Fairspell Meadow i don't know where i'm going.

Nope, not ready yet it seemed. Whittier frowned as he looked back at the water. What did he need to do to break this guy? Maybe if he waded in deeper and pretended to slip and did some splashing around as though he was about to drown. That might do the trick. But how far would he need to go to get to a point that was deep enough to make it believable? He didn't want to have to go too far and wear himself out, especially when he'd have to come all the way back. Plus what if the current got stronger and he actually got caught in it? That wouldn't be any good. Then he might get carried too far away from this guy and by the time he got back to shore, he'd be gone and there'd be no chance of getting a meal. What to do, what to do...

In all of Whittier's plotting, the thought of actually trying to catch a fish on his own failed to occur to him. Not even when he saw the glimmer of fins in the water a couple of feet away from where he stood did it really strike him that putting forth actual effort might get him what he wanted in the end - mostly he just saw a chance at food and went for it with another burst of his muzzle into the water.

Whit snapped at the fish, trying to aim just ahead of it like he'd been instructed and hadn't realized he'd actually picked up. Unfortunately, he chose poorly as to where to aim and the fish darted safely away, leaving the Frostfur more of a Wetfur than Frosty. He lifted his head again with an actual "Damnit!" and watched as it diseappeared in the ripples that swept away from his paws.