Totoka River the upper peninsula

The silver-eyed male was easily led, and for this Coelacanth was immensely grateful. She had never been one to turn down a meal, but nowadays she was ravenous — even the raw grief of losing Poppy could not overshadow the demands of her stomach. She brought Rokig to what had once been her favorite fishing spot in all of the Teekons; and although it had since been usurped by the safety and abundance her island’s waterways offered, she found that a flicker of happiness cracked through the miasma of mourning that weighed heavy on her soul. A brief glance told her all she needed to know: the water was still clean and sweet, there were glints of pleochroic fishscale beneath the surface, and the bend in the river, compiled with a rocky, pebble-bottomed dip in the riverbed, allowed for greater error than trying to scoop the fish from a straightaway.

“Rokig,” she whispered, speaking his name simply for the pleasure of doing so, and slipped into the water. Her feathery fur seemed transmuted to blue-black ink, blending in with the dark polish of the rocks beneath. She angled herself where she would not cast a shadow and plunged her head below surface when she spotted a fish nearby. She missed the first time, but almost immediately dove again, her slim jaws latching with practiced ease upon a speckled trout that she flung onto the mossy riverbank for her friend. She “barked” invitation, her coyote-fine jaws splitting and snapping together with a rush of air but no real tune behind it. Did he want to fish with her?