Whitefish River tired blue boy walks my way

the woman wanders away from the small group, for a time. others are something she must get used to, and there is a comfort when she is on her own. paws take her to a river, which seems teeming with fish, their opalescent bodies twisting and moving and gleaming beneath the current. Aglæca moves toward the bank, softly, carefully, not allowing her shadow to cross the river. luckily, the sun in is her favour. 

fishing is something she deems herself especially good at, and when the moves, a viper-fast strike, her muzzle breaks the surface of the river cleanly, her fangs catching about the wiggling body of a fish. it is strong, in its panic, muscled body straining wildly against her jaws. a deft sideways thrust of her head bashes it upon the bank, and it is still.

@Slade, @Redmoon; perhaps someone she has yet to meet?