Big Salmon Lake he's the ruffian on the stair

the sullen silver spectre of a wolf climbed the ridge, as the lake-water rushed past and with the gaze of one who saw far into the distance, she watched the wind whip the water into soft peaks. she had happened upon hard times these past few weeks, spring rushing on about her and still she was stuck in the vancouver winter that sang in her blood, a merry tune that shouted in the spring that winter would come again. food hadn't been too plentiful, the darkness of the north had yet to settle from her bones and the soft scent of fish upon the wind was driving her stomach into knots.

there, upon the hill.

a wolf lay across the ground, eyes facing the soft-peaked water of the lake but ears pricked for sound. it did not faze her, she came with no shame for her presence. perhaps she could ask this wolf to teach her how to catch those slimy buggers in the river. she'd tried and tried, to no avail.

"how do you? i don't suppose a wolf like you'd mind teaching me how to catch those fish down there? i've been here a few days and caught nary a one."