Duck Lake montefitu

the south was warmer.
coväh felt it in the loosening of the ice underfoot, the way it broke soft beneath his paws when he'd crossed the lake's edge the night prior. a herd had carried him here, thin-bellied and wide-eyed, and he hadn't bothered to chase them. not yet. they would need to fatten. and he was not so desperate.
so he stayed.
morning crested in slow waves of light, and coväh did not greet it with any urgency. no, the man lay sprawled atop a knoll of frostbitten grass, belly bared to the sky, one hind leg lazily kicked out, the other drawn up over his chest. his tail flicked in rhythm with his breaths, tongue lolling from his mouth as though he might snore if only sleep would reclaim him.
the lake glistened beyond him, unbothered and endless.
perhaps someone would come along and think him dead—limbs akimbo, throat exposed, his scarred chest rising and falling like a glacier’s slow sigh.
or perhaps they'd know better.
coväh smirked faintly without opening his eyes. the sun was warm here. the herd lingered at the water’s edge. there was no need to move. not until hunger gnawed again.