Two Rivers Isle a proper story

Bold was certainly a word for it. Others called it stupid. Cash tends to think he exists somewhere between—he did have a kind of self-assured ease that put others off, confused them long enough for him to begin to work the situation to his advantage. Brutes found it annoying, offputting, and it made them more irritated and easy to work up into a lather (then easier to deal with in their rage). Those a little more inclined to the more civilized routes of life typically got caught up in the sway. It was something he learned a long time ago in life: act like you completely controlled a situation and you could trick others into thinking it. Sometimes you could even trick yourself
 
He sidles up alongside her, peering into the water. Truth be told, he wasn’t much of a fisherman either. He’d caught a few in his life, sure, but it was largely because one burned a lot less energy sitting in one spot, waiting for the prey to come to them rather than the other way ‘round. He couldn’t get anywhere close to calling himself an expert, though.
 
Her response elicits a gravely chuckle from him. “Don’t know ‘bout being made for anything. The trick is, in life, more you do somethin’, the more it becomes you.”
 
In the good ways and the bad.
 
He takes a deep breath, sighing through his teeth. “Can’t lie to you, though. I don’t have much experience in this regard either.” He studies the fish, though, watching their movements against the steady stream. There were some patterns, though they were broken as soon as they formed. It wouldn’t be easy by any stretch of the imagination. Still better off than tryin’ to scrounge up some skinny rabbit from these desolated forests, though. “Guess it’s similar to regular huntin’, though. Watch, wait. Try to guess where it’ll be next, then make sure you’re there to meet it.”