Fox's Glade Only want to be a relief

There’s not much worse than waiting; suspended in a half-state, with every cell compelled into the anxiety of not knowing. She cannot undo what’s been done, what she has allowed an appetite for closeness to do. She had wanted all the world, had surrendered control, and now she wouldn’t have it back. Now she could only wait.

And waiting made her edgy.

She could feel a rift threatening to fly to pieces and wagered a little distance would do a lot of good. So she rappels down to the riverbed, resolved to do some fishing. The day is tranquil, at least, with golden sunlight pouring through the branches while her thoughts went up in smoke.

She lunges half-heartedly at a passing trout before her head resurfaces with empty jaws. She has forgotten how tricky this is, or rather, how crap she is at hunting.