Otatso Wetlands sandhill

It didn't seem that the man would be attacking him anytime soon. Wildflower was still wary, but not so much he felt the need to keep the same distance between them. He waded to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out, revealing the wild, rangy figure he possessed. He gave a hard shake before coming nearer still, long legs carrying him sedately to stand a short distance away.

"Men wear 'em," he elaborated. "On'ner hands. They're yella like wheatstalks, but they shine like the sun."

He looked at the fish, which was still flopping weakly in the grass.

"Aw — go on, bright eyes. Put us outta our misery," he insisted, waving toward the fish. "It's lookin' at me all sorry-like."