Otatso Wetlands azure

If there was one thing Aquillius solidly was not, it was any sort of fisherman. He’d tried, among Sweetharbor’s number, to figure it out, but a lack of depth perception didn’t lend well to catching the slippery creatures.

He could at least still catch those on land. But in the murky water of the wetland, he was just as lost as he’d ever been. The dark coated boy shook out his coat, knowing he’d have to wet it again soon, but forgoing it in favor of huffing sharply at the water like it had wronged him. But, in the action of pulling his head back, he caught it.

A flash of a red coat. He raised his head, twisting it to look for the splotch of color among the trees, and eventually finding it in another wolf. Awkwardly, he stared at them for a moment, unsure of if he should call out, or just leave without saying anything.

In the end, he settled for a sharp acknowledging nod.