Duck Lake a queen i am, but my throne is made of burned bones

The dark woman eyed him for a moment before she decided that her potential catch was of more importance; the ashen brute did not blame her for the choice she’d made. He watched with a smoldering gaze as she darted toward the ducks, kicking up tufts of sand behind her as she went. A few of the birds took flight and some attempted to head into the water. The woman followed into the shallows and managed to clasp her fangs around the throat of one of the birds, though her footing became unstable and she nearly tumbled in, losing the duck between her fangs. Once she had grounded herself, he watched her pull her body to the shore again and he found the catch an impressive one.
 
It seemed that the inky creature was eyeing the shoreline for his figure, but he had not moved from down the sands. His fiery optics danced as they watched her continue to reach something of higher ground. Without speaking, Kierkegaard lowered his skull towards the damp earth and trotted forward. The long and jagged fur along his neck danced to and fro against the light breeze. The length of his ears were pulled upward so that he could catch any sudden sounds that might have come from ahead of him.