Totoka River erwachsen

the soft trickle of water beneath ice. snow underfoot, ice between her pawpads and sheathing her limbs. fog, thick and heavy, making eerily silent the scene. the sylph moves on, the stillness all around a balm. 

she is rather unlike her brothers and sisters in that her love has never been for the sea, truly. it has been for what lies before; the shore, the strand. the soft calls of shorebirds in the springtime; the rasp of reeds against her pelt, tide pools cradling life and life on that narrow divide. yes, that is her realm. 

she pauses, then, as a paw slips past the snow and into the half-frozen mud that lays below. the sensation has her jolt, withdrawing the limb to examine the grim that clings stubbornly to it now. a tired sigh, and the sylph continues on.