Serpent Lake that's not a riot - its a feast (lets eat)

His world was swallowed by a swath of white bubbles as the boy thrashed away from him.

A poor decision on his part. He shouldn't have pegged Drusk as a likely candidate for a game of tag.

Of course, to someone like Drusk, every stake was sky-high. No delineation between play-fighting and the actual thing. What an exhausting life to trawl through, day by day. His paranoia was a different strain from the cuckoos in tinfoil hats and Faraday cages; his paranoia was warranted.

Gavrel knew that in order to regain some semblance of trust (if such a thing existed for him), he would have to provide food or some kind of sustenance, but their swimming had mucked up the silt and made it nigh impossible to see anything clearly in the depths, much less scrutinize for a hunt.

He mulled it over. After he had caught his breath and returned to land, he gingerly stepped forward so that the boy would see him as he turned to sprawl on his back, the soft skin of his stomach exposed to the world.