Whitebark Stream the moment you smiled at me

the morning was overcast, the soil underfoot squelching with each step from the overnight rain. it worked against ezra and he was unable to implore stealth as he wished to. still, he crouches low at the stream's bank: gaze sniper focused on the wolverine lapping at it's waters.

his mouth waters as he stalks it, breath stilling as he waits for the best moment to launch himself at it.

if he could catch it .. it would sate more of the hunger than the birds and eggs he and @Skaigona had been surviving off of.

his paw gets stuck in the muddy silt of the stream bank as he launches himself and he alerts his quarry to his presence.

it's a blur, a rush of adrenaline; underestimating the viciousness of his quarry. he's met with bared teeth and swiping claws that cut across the his nose, the pain trailing down across his lips on the right side of his muzzle. it is a sharp slicing pain that throbs as he recoils back with a sharp yelp of pain; tasting his own blood, nose full of the wretched, pungent metallic scent.

the wolverine bullies ezra back. humiliated, in pain and bleeding, ezra retreats from that section of the stream: his goal to go further down the stream to take stock of his injuries and attempt to nurse his wounded pride.

Brief flashes of iridescent scales outlined the thin bodies of minnows swimming just beneath the surface of the shallow pool. Their portion of sunlight was meager; the fisherman remembered watching minnows as a child, the pond near their whelping den seemingly always in full communion with the sun. That pond could have put this offshoot of the larger stream to shame.

It was the sound of conflict several yards away which pulled Mack from his nostalgia. He stood from where he had laid, furrowing his brow as he turned toward the racket. Hey! he called out, You- ah! The feisty wolverine swiped across the unfortunate stranger’s face just as Mack was announcing his offer of assistance. Not wanting conflict with the little creature either, he followed the other’s retreat from his side of the bank. 

Once he’d trotted close enough to be within true earshot, but not so close as to corner an injured fellow wolf, the fisherman made another attempt. Looked like it hurt back there, he called across the babbling current, Probably got your ego pretty bad too, huh? A charming smile offered his intention to help, not harm the poor fellow. Awaiting a response, Mack preemptively placed a paw into the stream as he prepared to cross.

in the thick of things, ezra hadn't even realized the other man had been calling out to him — but as the stranger's questions pierce through his mind and understanding dawns on ezra his embarrassment burns into humiliation. it threatens to swallow him whole.

he almost wished it would.

he scowls as he turns his head to look at the older man only to wince visibly at the pain it causes. which then causes more pain.

tongue swipes across his wounds, a grumble lingering in his throat.

yeah. it did. came ezra's curt response, teeth gritting against the feel of the wounds as he speaks.

Apparent inexperience hinted at the victim’s youth, otherwise disguised by his muscular physique. His autumnal palette was complemented by the drip streaks of fresh blood from the gash torn into his cheek. Mack winced watching his tongue lick across the hacked flesh. 

Daring to take a half-step closer, he offered, Maybe rinsing it is a good idea. For himself, Mack preferred to follow-up the instinctual licking of wounds with fresh water each time; the stickiness of saliva matted his fur, giving him a mess to clean later if not promptly addressed. 

A frog leapt into the water, plop! Those ones don’t bite, the angler mused, teasing the stranger for his obvious misstep with the wolverine. Bending down, he lapped up a quick drink of water.

ezra doesn't necessarily mean to be so frostbitten in his replies, but he is humiliated and ashamed, made worse by the fact that the stranger had witnessed it and both of them burn furiously in his chest. it's not an excuse and perhaps ezra has been bottling up too much, unsure of where and how to let out all the pent up anger at amadeo for fighting his father and grief for both anselm and gideon going missing.

it all seethes beneath the surface, using the internal and external wounds of the wolverine's claws upon his flesh as an outlet.

..., he stares for a moment, before a resigned sigh loosens itself from his lips, followed by another wince. probably. he mumbles in agreement.

only to cut a dour glare towards the stranger as he mentions that frogs don't bite as the frog yeets itself into the water. a loud snort, followed by an eye roll is given but ezra doesn't dignify it with a response. instead, he bends down to the water himself, hesitating just before plunging his face into the cool waters.

he does this a few times, the cooling waters a brief relief to the pain.

vhat's your name? ezra speaks it more of a demand and less of an ask. if the stranger was going to tease him and had bore witness to his great failure then ezra felt he at least deserved the man's name in return.