Lake Rodney Chipster

Dwin had not become a good fisher, but by trying to find out, what would fish feel and think, she had discovered that she was not that bad of a fish herself. In the swimming aspect. Some are born natural swimmers and some are like this young Blackthorn, who had needed at least thousand of attempts to swim further than her paws could reach and not try to drink the lake in the process. But just the same way one learns to ride the bicycle until it happens on its own in the end, so does mastering the art of swimming. And on the day this happened to Dwin, she spent a huge amount of time being either in the lake or at the lake, resting her tired paws and drying off in the sun. 

She was doing the latter now, taking great care of cleaning her paws and picking out dirt and tiny stones from inbetween her pawpads. Now and then she would stop to listen carefully to the sounds around her, or lift her nose to an interesting scent wind brought her way. By all acounts this was a very pleasant summer mid-day and Dwin hugely enjoyed the moment she was in. For her living in general was a throughly happy process, but there were days like these, when being alive here and now made her especially happy.