Whitebark Stream Some say you can get hurt by what you don't know

Ephraim listened, brows arching slowly up his forehead, as Vercingetorix tried to insist that he was stronger than any cold only to be immediately betrayed by a sneeze. He narrowed his eyes into a good-natured squint and drawled a skeptical, "uh huh." He did believe that Verx was a man of steel. He was one of Trigeda's own and Ephraim had seen firsthand how well coordinated and powerful those wolves could be when they needed to be. He had no doubts at all that Vercingetorix was capable of much when the occasion called for it, even if he didn't seem like it all the time.

Like now. Silently, he dipped his head down and followed the older man along the bank, picking his way on gentle toes so as not to disturb the fish below. Then again, there wasn't much for fish. He didn't see the fish that Verx identified with his untrained eyes, but he froze on the spot when the dark-haired wolf crouched low and then sprang into the stream. Ephraim's ears flew back in surprise when moments later, Vercingetorix emerged with a streak of silver flapping wildly around his face. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the sight.

"Yeah, right!" he dismissed as he craned his neck to get a better look at the now dead fish. His tail switched pensively side-to-side while his gaze traced over its slick scales and rested on its gills. "Seriously, how'd you do it?"