Whitefish River If that’s all/everything/more

When she motioned him forward, all traces of their conversation swiftly departed from his mind. He would get to be nearer to her. He might still have a chance.

Haltingly, Day picked up his prize and followed her command. He'd been forgiven, apparently, and he was not about to question it. And the closer he came, the more enticing the thick, heady scent of her became, until he could no longer see the river, or feel the fire-cat-snake in his jaws. All the world became this dark female, and he would do whatever he had to in order to gain her favor.

Opening his mouth to speak to her, his prize fell to the ground. Belatedly, he remembered her disdain for him having hunted whatever it was, and at once, he sought to apologize - all thoughts of standing his ground slipped like water from his mind.

"S-sorry," he stutterd, his voice sounding too-loud after the muggy silence that had gripped him.