Silver Creek anyway

If she offered her name stiffly, Talisman didn’t hold it against her, nor the cagey lash of her tail. He remained as still and assuming as he could, cinnamon-dusted ears pricked toward her as she elaborated on her kinship with the Procyon lotor. Prowler, for her part, remained beady-eyed and tight-lipped.

The coyote offered a good-natured snort and reassured, I won’t! I solemnly swear. Talis tipped his head toward Fiona and said, I don’t feel like dying today, a nod to the fact that she could easily overpower him, or killing, for that matter. At least, not anyone whose name I know, he continued, wondering if the levity would lighten up Fiona a bit or just make her want to pack up her companion and go.

Before Fiona had a chance to react to any of it, there came a loud splash from the nearby creek. Talis’s ears immediately swept backward, his head jerking in that direction and his muscles tensing. He glanced back at Fiona and Prowler, then arched his head to one side, trying to peer through the trees to discern the source of the disturbance.

Maybe a fish jum— he started to say when a second, noisier splash cut off his words.

I have no idea what’s splashing, so if you have any, feel free to take creative control. ;)