Honeyed Pasture like you've never felt the ground before

it is a fun game we play with the dice indeed 8D

There would be time for Renard to consider just how rude they had been later; for now they had put thought of that aside. Hunting in a stream was and could never be an elegant affair, but now above all times it proved itself rather comical as their jaws snapped shut on nothing but empty water. The beaver turned and, faster than Renard would ever have thought possible for such a silly looking creature, bolted at high speed up the stream, the broad tail dragging a long wake of white behind it.

The wolfdog snorted water from their nose as they moved to scramble back onto the bank, shaggy coat already dripping. Considering it made up a decent proportion of their size, they looked like nothing so much as a very large and very wet rat, their curly tail plastered to their back as they did their best to charge through the water.

Just ahead, a blurry white figure slid into the stream just ahead of the furiously-paddling beaver. Its body disappeared under the water as it veered hard to the side and around, leaving the woman behind; before Renard could tell if she indeed intended to go after it they were past, ignoring the urge to stop and shake off their waterlogged pelt.

The beaver was fast, for a beaver, but unfortunately for it that meant nothing to a wolf on land, even a wolf weighed down by what felt like half the river’s worth of water. Renard drew just ahead of it, and plunged back in with jaws open, and this time when they snapped down blood pooled out over their tongue.

It shrieked. Renard tightened the grip they had, and hauled it bodily out of the water and onto the bank, where it did its best to regain its footing until, keeping carefully out of range of any potential bite, the wolfdog got their teeth into its neck, and it shuddered, and went still.

Nose wrinkling, Renard pulled back and shook themselves out with a furious noise of wet fur slapping against itself and then, ever so slightly less damp, looked back upriver, where the woman was sitting half-submerged in the water and watching them with a look that Renard was much too far away to interpret, and. Right.

Scooping up the beaver in their jaws, they moved rather sheepishly up the bankside and dropped it at the very edge of the water, near both the other wolf and the newly-abandoned dam.

“Sorry,” they said. “That was rude of me. I’d just rather not let it get away after all that waiting.”