Whitebark Stream i don't know where i'm going but i just keep moving on

gjalla debates leaving her then and there—to sink or swim is the way of the world, but she does not. her lover's scent clings to the girl, lingering, and so she feels responsible.

with a slow exhale, she steps beside her, lowering herself into a crouch. her sharp blue gaze locks onto the river, where silver shapes dart beneath the surface. 

“you are moving too much,” she says, without looking at the girl. “you will never catch anything like that.” a pause. “watch.” 

she waits, poised like a coiled spring—silent, focused, patient. the moment a flash of silver moves beneath the surface, she strikes. her paw darts in, quick as a snake, scooping the fish out of the water in a single motion. it flops wildly against the stones before she silences it with a bite.

only then does she glance at the girl, expectant. “try again.”