Big Salmon Lake Texas Ranger

Hunger is not something that fades.

He hungered for fish.

The bear let out a cry of frustration as he stared into the water, his gargantuan shadow scaring off the fish who, apparently, were a bit smarter than Chunky over here.

His plan would need to change if he wanted to eat today. Never had Chunk gone without a meal - such a thing could not change.

Nashua slipped down from Moonspear into the flatter lands below. With age came freedom and the desire to see what lay beyond his family's claim. And, with the great hunt still fresh on his mind, the boy wondered if he might still find a familiar face lingering near the Glen.

Rather than wolf scent, musk erodes the air. He crinkles his nose but doesn't turn back, despite the clear cry rising up from the shores of the lake. He tiptoes through the brush until he's upon the lakeside, and pale eyes spy the mountain of a creature screaming at the self-created waves.

May I make a suggestion? his voice drifts in a quiet cadence over the waters once the bear finally stills. Though Nashua would have been afraid of any other, there's something about this bear that makes him feel safe to hang around and not bolt away. Likely because he is sure he can outrun him if things go south.

Barks sounded out. The loud, irritating language of the wolves. His vocabulary limited to what he had picked up from previous encounters, his understanding was slurred.

But the Canis Lupus carried no aggression in it's tone, and when he turned his head he quickly discovered that it was rather small. He could crush the little thing if it came to that.

Now he stood still, silent, and waited for it to continue speaking.

The bear gave attention, but no further signs of understanding. At least, Nashua thought, he doesn't seem aggressive.

Perhaps it was a fools errand, to help a bear, and one who looked like he needed no help at all. How had he gotten so large if he couldn't even hunt? Surviving off of kills of others, probably, and the worry crossed him: had he dined on any cache prepared by Moonspear? No, his family was smarter than to bury their kills anywhere an opportunist like this could find them.

But if Nashua could teach this beast to fish, perhaps there could be something to gain...

Quiet, Nashua picked his way into the lake, slow. And he demonstrated himself, until he grew completely still, the only movement from the water's own motion. Still. Wait.

Fishing required patience, perhaps why Nashua favoured it over other trades. It would do the bear no good to lose his temper now.

This time, he understood. Watching the little wolf he repeated the words spoken to him. "Quiet. Slow. Still. Wait." The words were broken, grunted out, but an effort nonetheless.

What could the canidae teach that he did not know? Would it simply feed him? Large, dark eyes watched, curious.

Fishing had never been easy, for he had never had to do it himself.

He heard him; repeated. Did it show understanding, or simple mimicry? Nashua would find out soon enough, but he trusted the former, unless proven otherwise.

With a nod, he said, watch, and turned eyes and ears to the still water suspended in the colored hues of trees overhead. Fish darted and drifted lazily about, but Nashua, at first transfixed by the glint of their scales, found his gaze catching elsewhere as his own reflection met him. 

Wolf, and not a bear.

He turned towards his company.

Wait. A question, and he lifted his paw, rivulets cascading along his downy fur. Your paws. How big? He gestured with his muzzle to his own flexing toes, then to the space below the behemoth, hoping he would understand he wished to see them like he showed the bear his own.

He did not understand the question, but lifted his paw all the same. Though it was out of impatience, rather than obedience.

Waving the clawed toes towards the little he soon placed it back into the water. He was hungry - just how much longer did the canidae plan to take?