Big Salmon Lake he's the ruffian on the stair

An ear turned way of his guest, followed by the crease of his thick neck as he turned his head in the direction of her. Mis-matched eyes took in the wolf, a wild snow nymph who smelled deep and stormy and of the many miles she had traveled. He regarded her carefully, but she approached without hesitance or threat, and Boone was confident enough not to be afraid of her anyway.

Though it was likely he should've been. She was nothing short of an embodiment of a harsh north winter, with her immaculate coat and dangerous eyes, and it was difficult to tell just yet what destruction her presence might bring.

"Sure, miss," Boone grunted as he pushed himself up from his belly and gave his dusty, barely dry frame a good shake. It was easy for him to offer his services when asked. Times like these were ones where he wasn't left alone with his thoughts, where he could flourish in what he was good at and not worry for anything besides his work. "It's all about patience, so if you're lackin' that, this ain't gone work," he warned her before wading back into the water.

"The trick is to stand still long enough for the fish to get comfy comin' around your legs. Then after that it's just about timing and aim." He motioned for her to come stand beside him. "They can also hear real good for some reason," he shrugged, not really understanding this himself but he was witness to the phenom nonetheless. "They'll start comin' once everything's quiet."