Whitefish River If that’s all/everything/more

Perched on the edge of the river, her eyes wandered slowly after every form that darted out in front of her. Several times over could she had tried to reach in and grab one, and yet, she'd held back. If she were to miss, then surely the rest of them would all be frightened away and a meal lost. She had to be patient, to wait until a larger quantity swam by, that way her chances of catching one would be increased. It was a time-consuming activity, but necessary. The air betrayed the presence of other prey, yes, but the river seemed most plentiful. Even from a distance, she had sworn that she'd spotted the various fish swimming about within it, but no longer could she be sure of that, for already had she since approached the water and confirmed the amount of life within its depths.

Towards her there had been a nearing school, seemingly unaware of her presence there. Her muscles tensed, ready to lunge forward and break the water's surface with her muzzle. Never had she been given the opportunity to do so, however, as a single ear swiveled back atop her head in order to better pick up on a sound. It was recognized as being footfalls, an approaching someone who, normally, she would have greeted. This time she offered not even the slightest of sounds as she'd turned around to face him, her previous task forgotten as her focus lingered solely upon the stranger. Nothing about him was familiar, save for his scent. As she'd gingerly sniffed at the air, she'd smelled something similar to FitzDutiful on the stranger, bringing her to believe that they were of the same pack. Briefly, she had wondered of how the male was doing, but had been unable to find the words necessary to pose such a question. No, the pale man wasn't one of her top priorities at the moment, for towards the fiery-coated corpse had her eyes been drawn.

Fox.

It was a species that she did not hunt—could not bring herself to hunt. Their fine furs reminded her of fire, which, in turn, brought forth thoughts of dragons. They were not messengers of the fierce beasts, as far as she knew, but still they held a colour about them that was unlike any other. Yet the furs did not move as they should on the corpse, turning it into something that she could pity, but not properly mourn. Still, when she'd looked back towards the male, there lived within her gaze the faintest of glares. "You should not have stolen its life," the chieftess voiced, eyeing him for a moment, but making no move to leave. Her escape route had yet to be decided on, various paths presenting themselves as candidates, but each one offering a risk, too. Without a clear choice in mind, she'd remained still, glued to her spot along the river.