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

gjalla’s eyes narrow—though not in displeasure. The girl’s name clings to her mind, curling like smoke. ishmira. the child’s grin is wide and crooked, bright enough to draw the slightest twitch from the corner of Gjalla’s mouth—almost a smile, but not quite. the girl's eagerness is transparent, clear as glass, but gjalla does not fault her for it. she watches in silence as the white yearling creeps forward again.

the strike is with newfound precision—a clean sweep of her paw, smooth and swift. the fish flails upon the bank, and ishmira dispatches it with a swift bite. 

“good,” praise, given plainly. she steps closer, paw pressing against the limp fish, pinning it down as she examines it. “cleaner,” she notes. “you kept your shadow off the water. that is important.” her gaze flicks to ishmira then, searching. “fish are not like rabbits. they are faster than they look. they will always see you before you see them if you are careless.” 

gjalla steps back, lifting her paw from the fish. “you are his. blackfell's,” she says at last, an assumption that leaves no room for argument, regardless of its truth.  “i am gjalla. a friend of his,” close enough, she thinks.

“you may have that one,” she offers with a small nod to the fish, as if bestowing a gift. “but if you wish to impress blackfell…” Her gaze lingers on the river. “you will need to bring him more than one.”