Fishblight Mire ✢ Sɨnɨɨh

AW!

the river licked at his ankles, cold as glacier melt and just as quick to bite. coväh stood half-submerged, shoulders still, ears twitching only when the water broke beside him.
morning mist curled along the surface like breath from the earth itself, wrapping the banks in silver thread. above, the trees leaned in, gossiping low with wind-swayed branches. his coat clung damp against his frame, but he didn’t shiver. he was too focused.
there. a flick of silver scale.
his weight shifted. one paw hovered above the gravel bed, poised mid-air. he exhaled slow through his nose, muscles tight with patience.
he’d already missed three. the fish were fast this time of year—fat with spring feed, clever with their zig-zag dodges. but coväh was clever too.
a shadow slipped beneath the surface, and without thinking, he lunged—front paws slapping down, muzzle plunging after the gleam of movement—
splash.
water flew like shattered glass.
and coväh surfaced, shaking his head, water dripping from his chin.
no fish. again.