Heron Lake Plateau I'm allowed a phone call... And a beer.

To a certain point, Quixote had pretty much given up on catching birds -- besides, certain other wolves were putting enough of a dent in their populations, he'd just try to catch other stuff.  Like fish.  He was giving it a go at least, wading up to his elbows and trying to spot something to chomp.  He must have been really obvious doing so, because he certainly wasn't seeing much here even though he was sure there were fish in the damn lake -- he'd seen enough herons gobble up small ones.

The fact that every time he took a step to try to find a better position or the like, a cloud of dirt and grime floated up to cloud the water more didn't help at all.  It was frustrating.  All he wanted to do was to catch some food, have a snack, bring something back later but things didn't enjoy cooperating.  Maybe he should stick to things with fur and leave it at that.  His ears flicked back on his head, and somewhere in deeper waters, a duck quacking at him sounded more like he was being laughed at.  Quixote shot the damn bird an accusatory glare, then trudged through the water to a slightly different part of the lake to continue his search.