Whitefish River Pale Underbelly

Wicken offered a curt nod of his dark head before he was off again. A dark shadow once again hovering over the pristine flowing water despite the damp reminder of his coat lingering, but it was used as a lesson. The confidence a prior meal had given the youngster allowed him to retain a vast amount of focus as he watched them swimming below once again. There were his own dark thoughts swirling there in the silence as he finally allowed himself to fully observe his own appearance in the reflection. The distance between them made it appear that yellow eyes were observing the fish in the water, but they were far, far away in the recesses of his own mind. The wolf in front of them was not the one he remembered.

The killing blow was swift and without a familiar dip into the water.

The apprentice brought his catch back to his teacher with a slow wag of his tail. He deposited it directly next to the russet head of a splayed out Marcus with gusto. A bow filled with humor was elicited before Wicken slinked a few steps away to seat himself, licking the remaining fishy taste from his maw. He watched the new acquaintance out of the corner of his eyes for a few moments before gaining the courage to speak. Where are you from, Marcus?