Big Salmon Lake fallen so far, like a shooting star

September 15th. 6:30 PM. Nippy temperature.

Weary and paranoid, the male slipped through the trees, slinking to the lake's edge. The jarring din of bullfrogs was a reprieve; to ease his mind of what ifs and what's that out of the corner of my eye. His journey had been a long one...with no destination in sight. He fell to the earth with a resigned groan, paws hanging over the lip into the ice cold water. A salmon brushed against his worn paw pads before darting away into deeper waters. He was far too slow to react, so he just laid his head down on his paws and let his eyes drift shut.            Sleep did not come to him easily. He dozed uncomfortably at the shadowy lake for three hours before rolling over onto his front and shaking his pelt out. He wasted no time in hovering over the yawning waters, eyes straining for a sign of movement or a flicker of opalescent fish scales. The process of successfully capturing one of those slimy bastards was pathetic, but once he got one – soaked to the bone with mud and water – he gleefully teared at it's flesh and ate. He would not stop until it was picked clean. Maybe – just maybe – he could get another before retiring for the day. After all, tomorrow would be spent searching for a suitable home, preferably one more enduring than the last.