Totoka River the sky and the sand and the sea

Skífa - here we are!

They'd headed through the fog, away from those strange, grave-like hills until they reached the coast. There, for the first time in his life, Corvo saw the sea. The taste of salt was heavy on his tongue. In the air, gulls cried out to them from time to time, reminding Corvo of how far from home he'd really traveled. Conversation was sparse between Skífa and him, at the fault of Corvo, not that he minded. He had never been one for much conversation. Honestly, Skífa's sense of humor reminded Corvo unpleasantly of his brother, but he forced the thought to the back of his mind and chose to ignore it. 

With their pawprints leaving a trail in the snow and the ocean to their right, they headed onward until they reached a river. The fresh water was a welcome sight. Corvo knelt down to drink his fill and then raised to survey the landscape again. Noticing the fish beneath the surface, despite the cold, he glanced at Skífa. 

"We could try for some fish, if you're willing to brave the cold waters?"

Thanks!

Skífa trekked quietly after Corvo, enjoying the silence. When they hit the coast, he braced himself against the rolling ocean breeze, letting it tousle his fur and skim his cheeks. The gray waters hissed and surged for countless leagues. Large breakers hammered through the rocks, running ashore on black beaches of ice and shingle. Gulls kited above them, riding cold currents through misty clouds. He smiled, staring adventurously at the horizon. Until Corvo picked a new direction and the pair roamed further west.

At this point, Skífa quietly mulled over reneging his part of the deal. He hadn't traveled with someone for this long in a long time. It felt weird. Suspicious. He didn't need Corvo's company anymore, after the fog. It set him on edge.

They came to a river. Twisting, cold, and glassy dark. He drifted into the river-reeds while Corvo satiated his thirst. The suggestion made him prick his ears. "Are you?" He doubled back, drifting toward the riverside by Corvo. "You know of Water Fathers? Hunters of fishermen. Big frogfish, size of wolves. Live in rivers like this. Will drown you if they get the chance. Especially in winter." Skífa waited to let the idea sink in; he didn't expect it would frighten Corvo, but he was amused by the opportunity to share the morbid tidbit of folklore. Then he smiled and shook his head. "Pup-tales, huh? I'll fish." He flicked dark eyes to the shadows swimming beneath the surface. "How you want to do this?"

Corvo watched as his companion looped back round to join him. As Skífa came nearer and began to speak, Corvo listened, but he didn't appear to put much thought into the words. He was unconvinced, as he'd never seen or heard of such a thing. Ever the realist, Corvo scoffed, replying curtly, "I doubt Water Fathers have killed as much as hunger. That's the real threat."

He pushed on, stepping closer to the water's edge to survey the scene. The river didn't appear to be too deep here, and although it was cold as ice, both the males sported a thick outer layer of pelt grown in just in time for the winter season. Besides, like he'd said before, Corvo was warier of starvation than he was of pretty much anything else. So, gesturing with his muzzle, he answered Skífa after some thought. 

"Maybe one of us could position ourselves on those rocks there," he paused to be sure Skífa saw the outcropping off in the water that he'd noticed. The rocks created a sort of half moon shape, just large enough to possibly trap a fish if forced downstream. "The other can herd a fish or two back toward there. What do you think?" He looked toward Skífa, wondering if he had any other ideas that might get them out of the water faster and feasting on plump fish for dinner.

Hunger; oh yes, he knew hunger. A wolf wasted away on hunger. Slowly. Painfully. Until the delirious body was spent of all its strength and cunning, and there was nothing left but an empty husk of what used to be. The reality was always far crueler than the stories. He grunted.

His gaze tracked to the indicated rocks, then he eyed the turbid waters upstream where a chaser might pursue the fish. He nodded once, sharply. Hunting put him in good spirits. "Good," he affirmed, dark eyes and dark mouth smiling. "I'll go. Don't miss." And without waiting for Corvo to agree - if he disagreed, he'd have to shout at him - Skífa slunk away like a high strung dog and prowled upriver, where he slid long legs into the biting cold river before he could foster any doubts. Though the effect was dampened by his thick winter coat, the icy north water was blisteringly frigid; he sucked in his breath and grit his teeth. 

Before he waded any further and any deeper in, he glanced downriver toward the arch of rocks, impatiently scanning where Corvo should be waiting.

The plan seemed to suit Skífa, as he agreed without much hesitation. It appeared he was just as eager as Corvo for a meal of fish today. Nodding, he watched the other male pad downstream, turning away after a few seconds to judge how far Skífa intended to go. With the plan set into motion, Corvo made to do his part, moving as close as he could to the rocky outcropping from the adjacent bank. Then, with an inhale of breath to steady himself, he rushed in.  

The cold was just as he'd expected it, sharp and unrelenting, cutting through the top layer of his black fur swiftly. He was thankful for his winter coat. Without it, Corvo feared the cold would be his death. Thankfully, the river did not reach over his head, so he didn't have to fully submerge himself, but the rush of water reached up high onto the barrel of his body and he had to crane his neck so that it didn't flood his nostrils. 

He emerged dripping onto the outcropping, carefully placing each paw as his weight threatened his hold. When he'd found what he felt to be a secure spot, his eyes raised to find Skífa, who had found his preferred hunting spot downriver. He gave a nod. He was ready.