Ouroboros Spine no one wakes up one day

he shifts and leans down to lap a few more times at the water, not desiring to make himself sick by drinking too much, too fast. drinking and eating was painful enough. throwing up? wasn't something he wanted to test. he shuffles back a bit from the bank and stretches carefully, testing the pull of muscles beneath his blue-black pelage as she pounces on her unsuspecting target. glacial gaze follows the elegant and languid movements she makes, unable to help but feel a spark of ...what? jealousy? admiration? for how easy ( ha ) she makes it look. then again, he thinks, maybe he, too, knows how to fish. did he even like fish?

just another thing on a long, tragic list of things he didn't remember.

her execution of the thrashing fish — were those whiskers? — was precise and she announces that this one was for him. he stretches a large paw towards it and drags it nearer to him, studying the scaled water prey with a micro-expression that goes from clinical to blank in a moment of seconds. was he supposed to skin it? could he eat it scales and all? he can't exactly ask her and so waits for her to catch her own meal and figures he'd just follow her lead when she begins to eat.