Duck Lake Metaphorically, I'm a whore, and that's denial number four

He stood in the water for a while, listening to the sounds of the night and willing his mind to quiet down, but it never did. A heavy sigh moved from his chest, and he turned and sulked from the water. When he reached the shore, he stopped to shake the water from his thick, ebony coat. He stood still for a few moments, eyes searching the sky, and then he turned back to face the water and plopped down on the ground. Resting his head on his front paws, he stared at the lake and the way each breeze moved small waves across the surface of the water, the moon light glinting off the reflective plane each time a wave swept through one of its glimmering beams. The woman went unnoticed for now, too hidden and too quiet to alert the alpha of her presence, and so he silently brooded as he was prone to do.