Whitefish River that's a lot of fish

It hadn't occurred to him that he had drifted as close to these strangers as to overhear them until the last couple of sentences. He kept an ear out toward them while his eyes still glassed the water. Something about flowers, all too cheerful. At least unintimidating. Ram scoffed under his breath but paused when he realized they had ceased their chatter. In the silence-- save for the babbling of the river-- he felt their gazes on him. Ram returned the stare. 

     The rusty male eyed one up and down, then the other. Young females, so blissfully naive. Sleek fur and graceful frames, like they might have never known hardship; far different in appearance to the females of Ram's origin. And of course, he, himself, quite larger than the pair. An advantage of his sex and breed. He stood there, his posture unchanged. His tail hung from his haunches and his head was a little above level to his shoulders. 

     He hadn't really anything to say, either. He had done well to avoid most strangers over the last year or so, but he supposed his mind was a little bored with himself and it didn't make great efforts to remain solitaire as it had since. Of course, it was also undecided in if the situation of company was a positive or if Ram still wasn't ready for the interactions. He contemplated simply turning tail and skirting back to isolation, but his curiosity had him stay. So he remained, staring and silent, curious over possible interactions or perhaps some way to exploit the situation, he wasn't even sure, himself.