Moonspear raised high, brought low

At once, there was nothing and so very much. He did not need to say anything. She knew, or could perceive something close enough to knowing to get her the general idea. After all, her own depths existed between the lines as well yet knowing all of this only felt like an icy chill. He ached. The only solace she could find was in that he lived, persevered, and now she felt like the distance that spanned between them she could not cut straight through to cross. It was result of a long string of disappointments, one right after the next and each worse, and that was enough to wear her down to the bone.

She would not press it now though, she didn't have the energy to tax herself on it. He moved towards the water and when he did, her ears flicked forward before resettling back to halfway splayed as she watched him and the water bend gracefully around his legs -- all in all, a welcome distraction, even with the space he kept from her. He seemed poised to fish and she caught herself looking forward to his potential success (even though she had not seen anything worth catching, let alone eating), maybe even greedily so, or that was just the ugliness of a picky hunger rearing its head. 

She watched him for a while, almost wanting to slip into comfortable contentedness because that once felt just right -- had everything not been skewed, of course, but eventually she pulled herself up and out into the stream too. After a soft sigh, she edged closer to him. Not by much, but she assumed her own spot in the waters near his, glancing between the current and him. "Only saw minnows from the shore," she mentioned quietly, almost off-hand.