Duck Lake you're the prayer inside me

small sheets of ice lingered within the lake, rala noticed, as if the water had made an attempt at freezing over, only to be disturbed by the residents. unfortunately for her, though, and the water-diver lineage that coursed within her veins, this ice would be far too thin to walk across, and so she abandoned the thought quickly as she begun to move.

it would be visible to the man ; the way her thoughts came and went like turning cogs within her mind, strategizing, maneuvering with careful muscles that were toned, well-used beneath her plush pelt. the way in which she looked like a cotton ball could result in a deceiving appearance, distracting from her true nature as an ox huntress. ducks, however? well ... they were not her strong-suit, but what mattered most was that she was head-strong, a stubborn woman who would show these ducks who was master, not out of pride, but rather a dedication, a commemoration to those who had come before her.

and so she moved with lynx-like prowess, watching as one of the birds gently drifted towards the rim of the lake, towards a patch of snowless tall grass. male, by its colours and its curled tail, making an attempt towards the female, by its dullness and its loud calling-quacks. it would be almost humorous, should one (or, both, depending on the mans skillset) not become her meal. already she was wracked with hunger, so she treaded with care, steps precise, that of a hunter. eyes locked upon her prey. hungry.

powerful backlegs pushed her forwards, then, sprinting towards the poorly hidden hen. her jaws, snapping, would reach for the bird. snowwoman counted on sunlit man of oak to come to her aid, should the duck escape her range. a huntress's grasp.