Otter Creek regenwasser

and so it came to pass that mahler was not to turn away in boredom after all. the frantic head of an otter breached the waters not far away, and the gargoyle lunged after it at once. such beasts were far swifter than those who stayed upon land; a quicksilver blow was best. 
and so mahler's heavy jaws snapped gleaming in an arc of droplets, followed by a crimson spray that bat playful notes of scarlet into the glint of sun upon surface. another drive of his muzzle and the otter was limp.
elated, mahler fished it from the creek and returned to his place upon the bank, but not before a storm-grey wheatfield of a wolf filled his lavender eyes, and he set down the kill to watch in silence with a brazen curiosity.