Duck Lake I like driving backwards in the fog

It was the feather and noises that drew her closer to investigate. Life as a rogue was never kind—of course she hungered. Her bright eyes swept over the scenario, considering the potential of a meal—would she expend more energy than worthwhile?

She continued to wander the edges of the water, sand and grit twining along to her silver underbelly and flank, perhaps a sight for sore eyes and yet uncaring. Hardened. Distant.

When her eyes fell upon the other watcher, she stilled for a moment, feeling a twitch of regret. She tried to avoid the company of others. Yet there was something distinctly intriguing about the woman before her—unbeknownst thus far to Meadow, the scent of blossoming life. Purpose.

She longed so much for a purpose.