Greatwater Lake No peace for the wicked

At any previous point in her life Zharille was most likely to strike first, ask questions never. The difference of a few seasons had not made her mature in any way. She wanted to lunge for the back of the man's neck, snare his spine in her teeth, and rattle him until there wasn't a shred of life remaining; but she had to be smarter these days, or at least that was the feeling in her body. This reluctance came as a side-effect of motherhood trasmuted through loneliness. Alone, she could not defend the lake.

The man must have been here a while, to know she was in this state. To not be afraid as she came crawling up behind him. That, or he held his own assuredness close, draping himself in confidence as one might wrap themselves in platitudes. She wondered too, if his disinterest in her arrival was a point towards foolishness; was he young, or did he truly not fear retribution for his trespass?

When he spoke the fur along her nape prickled. Her tail swayed once, threatening to lift like a banner to showcase her pride, but there wasn't a threat upon his tongue, only an awareness. A seasonable breath plumed from Zharille as she huffed. Why are you here? At my lake, was the commonplace addendum when confronting strangers here; but it did not feel like it was her's these days.

Not since she had paid for it.