Duck Lake I tell you that I'm thinking about,

Elowen moved carefully through the trees, each step calculated, though there was a hesitant lightness to her tread, a wariness that betrayed her cautious nature. She hadn't expected anyone else to be here—most avoided the lakeside at dawn, preferring the comfort of sleep to the biting cold that nipped at her fur. But she couldn’t resist the quiet solitude it offered her in the early hours before the world woke.

As she drew closer to the water, she spotted him—a figure draped in a deerskin pelt, his focus unwavering as he gazed toward the water’s edge. She stilled, observing the way he crouched, poised yet relaxed, eyes trained forward. The pelt he wore looked well-made, and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd crafted it himself.

A shiver of uncertainty ran through her. She should turn back, avoid the risk of interrupting his hunt, yet something kept her rooted. After all, a stranger wouldn’t notice a quiet watcher on the sidelines. Perhaps should could scavenge anything he left, take a feather or two to Lorcan as a gift—a thank you.