Whitefish River but then the fish gets caught

Muirrin sat at the river's edge, watching the way the current moved and how the fish within it seemed to accept the path they were forced to follow. Her life had been quite unstructured as a juvenile, with little guidance or expectations—her parents loved her, she was sure, but they evidently loved having children more than interacting with them. There were times when she wished she could be as a fish in the water... directed where to go, without the need for thought.

"But then," she began, watching as one of the creatures flickered beneath the water's surface, apparently immobilized by the place where two currents met. Quick as lightning, she thrust her head into the river and came up with muzzle dripping—but filled with the fat, scaly morsel she had been watching moments before. "Dddhhh fiph gehs cout," Muirrin continued, speaking despite the meal held in her jaws.