Duck Lake falling apart

briggs stood at the edge of the lake, the water dark and still beneath the fading light. the air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pine, familiar in a way that settled deep in his bones.
he exhaled slow, watching the ripples shift as the wind skimmed the surface. his reflection was fractured, distorted—just another thing that didn’t quite fit right.
didn’t matter. wasn’t here for that.
his gaze swept the shoreline, sharp, assessing. quiet now, but quiet never lasted.

AW!

on a sprained paw she had managed to bring herself from the grove to a lake.

the moon chased the sun, though the latter was always faster. was that not how it always was? how it forever will be? the purpling of the sky whispered to the cherry-eyed handmaiden ; be careful, came the breeze. be watchful, came the birdsong. and yet, thirsty girl kept going anyway. saw the dark figure. paused for a moment ...

... continued, then, to the edge of the lake. bent her head down to drink.

though her tail swayed carefully behind her. a silent test of this mans behaviour.

would he snap? would he remain quiet? that was what a test was for.

briggs watched.
silent. still.
the lake was quiet, the sky bruising into night, and yet here she was—limping, slow-moving, vulnerable. stupid. or maybe just stubborn.
his eyes flicked to the way her tail moved, careful. a test.
he huffed, low and unimpressed.
if you’re expectin’ trouble, you oughta stay outta its way, he muttered, voice rough, edged with something like warning—but not threat.
he didn’t move. didn’t snap. just kept watching.