Otter Creek Pray or Prey

The fading light shone off of the waters of the creek, dancing across the earth and flittering about in the leaves of the trees. Kierkegaard sat near the edge, his eyes following the transfixing movements with a lazy sense of interest. He had always enjoyed the dying sun on a late evening. Every day it seemed to change. Depending on where he found himself, the environment was like something out of a fairytale. There, by the water, it was brilliant shades of orange and long casting shadows posing ominous threats. Hidden by the cover of the trees, it was nothing but darkness with the flash of paling sun as it was cast through the thick trunks and branches. Somehow, the tameless beast was always able to find himself transfixed. There was a sound, like the flapping of wings, and Kierkegaard canted his head in the direction of the noise to catch a glimpse of a raven or crow cutting through the boughs of the forest. His golden-orange gaze then lowered to the sight of a swarthy wolf. For a moment, he had thought the wandering creature to have been his sister, but when he caught sight of the stranger’s rich yellow gaze, he knew it not to be so. Frowning thoughtfully, Kierke eyed the peculiar sight with wonder, but remained silent.