Qeya River Imitosis

Shrike growled to himself very softly- a barely audible thrum just above the sound of his own breathing, and once in a while his black lips would mouth the words want that. He moved carefully in the water, not wanting to knock too many rocks out of place and inadvertantly bury the rock that he would never again see. He was convinced he was in the right area, and that the rock couldn't possibly have gone far from where he'd been. It was frustrating, as well, as he assured himself that he hadn't disturbed too many rocks in the area when he'd scooped up the one he'd thought was right, so it made absolutely no sense that it shouldn't be exactly where he'd left it. 

He was roused from his search somewhat suddenly when a feminine voice posed a question. He looked toward her, water dripping from his chin, his expression anything but shameful. He was still frustrated with himself and with the water for moving the rocks around on him. He wanted the pretty rock. It wasn't fair that it wasn't where it should have been. But his tension lessened slightly when he looked at the female, whose markings brought an amused light to his eyes. She, too, had the markings of a bird- and he sorely hoped that she too had been  named for the bird she resembled. He wondered, then, as well, if she resembled the magpie in personality and thus, he felt no shame when he spoke the truth.


"Rock. A shiny one." He said to the attractive female, lifting his gaze to her face to gauge her reaction. Though shrikes weren't really attracted to shiny things, magpies were. Even if her name wasn't magpie, he secretly hoped that she would still be attracted to the idea of looking for something shiny. It would have been too perfect. At least he, named Shrike, wasn't the kind of wolf who impaled his meals on thornbushes, to save them for later- so not all character traits needed to be replicated.