Duck Lake you're the prayer inside me

Cole moved in quiet parallel to the woman, his emerald eyes tracking her deliberate, measured steps. She was skilled, that much was clear—a huntress born of discipline and purpose. The way she moved through the grass, her pale figure blending into the snow-dappled landscape, was a sight worth admiring. But he didn’t linger too long on her grace; he had his own target.

The sharp quacks of the ducks echoed softly across the water, mingling with the occasional rustle of reeds. Cole’s gaze locked onto a drake that had drifted just far enough from the group to be vulnerable. Its iridescent green head gleamed under the muted sunlight as it dipped its bill into the water, oblivious to the danger.

Dropping low, he crept forward with practiced ease, his movements steady and deliberate. When the moment came, he surged forward, snow and grass crunching beneath his weight. The duck flapped its wings in a frantic attempt to escape, but it was too late—his jaws snapped shut around its body, the satisfying weight of his catch solid in his grasp.

Lifting his head, Cole turned back toward the polar cub, his tail giving a single wag of triumph. He padded toward her, the duck held firmly in his jaws, its glossy plumage ruffled and askew.

Not bad for a first hunt together, he remarked lightly once he’d dropped the duck at her feet. His tone was relaxed, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes.