the fish in the river- oh, sorry, i mean creek...

Hey there have fun with my Engrish-speaking-scarred-former-samurai. :D

He had no leads on Yoichi. The trail had gone cold and winter was approaching. He needed a new lead, a new sign, but he would find nothing if he did not speak the common tongue of this land. He had knowledge of a few basic words and phrases, but he had yet to learn anything else, thanks to his unsociability.

The ronin walked up to a nearby creek, glaring at his reflection in the icy depths, contemplating the new wolf staring back at him. No longer was it the golden Tatsuya, the young samurai ready to be the best he could for his clan and his lady, but it was the exile, the ronin Kizuato, permanently scarred on his face for all to see.

Kizuato looked up at the sound of splashing, astonished to see a fluffy white wolf looking angered as she failed to catch another fish. The dark green eyed wolf watched for a few moments, before averting his gaze back to the waters, spotting a fish and catching it with practiced ease. The ronin walked over to the female and dropped the fish right by her. "Fisshu." he said, recalling the word for the aquatic creature and pronouncing it in his thick Japanese accent.