Big Salmon Lake body of water

Kipling, in fae-like fashion, skittered past the stranger towards the water. Oh, she could spare him a word or two later, but at the present moment she was dying of thirst, or rather her throat was the slightest pinch dry. But she wasn’t one to stay uncomfortable, and while it was certainly unwise to turn her back to foreigners, especially outside of pack’s home, she didn’t think twice about it. Funny then, the other risk she didn’t acknowledge, of him being from the Creek and her of the Mountain.

The nuisances of scents and their meanings were cleansed by the tip of her muzzle dipping into the water, lapping up the cool liquid hurriedly down her throat. It did well to refresh her. But without noticing perhaps, she had made his intent to fish thrice as difficult, the native lake-dwellers shying away from her clattered approach halfway into the water. Where she stayed, dunked along the shore, to drink to her heart’s content.