Whitebark Stream Saluted father dear

ooc: for hunter's trade.

Foxglove was spending a lazy afternoon by a stream she had found few days earlier. Fish were abundant there - you could dip your head, keep your jaws open and wait for one to run straight in your jaws (the dappled girl is fond of exaggerations) - and so were the crayfish, yet they put up a fight, when you tried to pick them up and eat them. Therefore the wolfess did not even try to touch them - too much effort for a very small meal. 

She was dozing with half-closed eyes in the warm autumn sunlight, when a movement in the distance caught her attention. Her gaze followed the dark brown, reasonably big, furry blob that was swimming in the river until it disappeared behind a bend. Curious, she got to her feet and went to explore further and found a beaver-mound in the middle of reasonably large pool. 

"Hmm..." Foxglove tilted her head to the side, contemplating, whether she should swim towards the mound and have a better look and - perhaps - catch and kill the craft inhabitant, or not to care at all.