Big Salmon Lake runaway

also counting towards a scout trade!!
aw!

The sun had risen high, brushing gold across the vast glass of the lake. Ripples glimmered where trout danced beneath the surface, and somewhere near the tree line, a heron lifted off in slow, graceful flight.
Aneira moved with no destination. Snowmelt rushed in from the mountains, feeding the veins of the land; and for once, she allowed herself to follow, carried by instinct alone. Her paws were quiet, pressing into the damp earth along the lakeside trail. The scent of pine mingled with water, and elk tracks patterned the soft soil.
The world was alive here, untamed, full of stories she did not need to understand just yet. The frostmaiden lowered her head to drink, letting the cold bite of the lake numb her tongue. No plans, no burdens, just the rhythm of water and wind and the subtle peace of not needing to be anywhere at all. Just here; just now. Wandering.

fish bones? fish don't have bones! if they had bones you'd choke with your little neck! chattered the vulture where he sat upon the lake's edge.

across from him, standing tall among the shallows, a heron. the clattering of that long, piercing, lancing beak is accompanied by a hurried whistle.

leave me be! there's no marrow here for you. It opens its wings and tries to look big, but there's no contending with the bulk of the well-fed ferryman.

while arguing, the two birds were thoroughly distracted by one another and did not yet notice the wolf.

The frostmaiden lingered where stone gave way to sand and water, the breeze pulling at the strands of her pale coat. She had heard them before she’d seen them; the bickering, the flustered flutter of wings and sharp, rasping sounds. A vulture and a heron, locked in petty dispute; strange company for a lake so still.
Her turquoise eyes glinted with cool amusement, though her posture remained reserved. She did not enter the shallows, nor demand attention. She only watched them now, as a snowdrift watching fire try to burn the sea.
„You bicker so loudly I half-expected the lake to freeze shut in protest.” Aneira wasn’t sure words would reach them; let alone make sense.

it was the heron that reacted to the wolf first, more attentive to terrestrial things than qapnuk ever was. it turned its too-long face in the direction of the approaching creature and took on an expression of nervousness - at least to the eyes, as there wasn't much expression that a bird could have upon their face, really.

qapnuk noticed this and thought he'd won the argument, and so he puffed up and drew his shoulders together. the heron gave him one last look before drawing away and taking off, its wings wide and silver.

yeah, you run off! eat 'yer marrow next. he shouted, which to the wolf would sound like a triumphant hissing.

when qapnuk finally relaxed he turned his head, but the tendril of his neck barely moved so his body remained facing the water. something pale shifted in his periphery and so he adjusted the rest of himself to face it together—finally, seeing the wolf.

he puffed up again! this time with surprise—and gave a squawk of oh shit.

The frostmaiden halted, pale fur ruffling in the breeze as she fixed the vulture with a hard, silent stare. Its shriek scraped against her ears like stone, but she did not flinch. Instead, her head dipped just slightly, voice low and even; like ice cracking under pressure.
„Bicker once more and I'll scatter your feathers to the lake wind.” A growl, deep and low, rumbled from her throat. She took a single step forward, her presence looming like a cold front, unshaken and unmoved by feathers or fuss. Normally, the clamor of birds wouldn't have grated on her nerves; but today, she'd wandered in search of quiet, of solace. And this was how the world chose to answer.

seeing a wolf this close was not a common thing for qapnuk. he did not want to be cowed by the canine's presence but it was difficult to avoid the recoil of his neck, or the tipping of his beak downward; and he opened his wings up to try and look big in the next moment, to dissuade the wolf from coming any closer.

its rumbling was a clear message. qapnuk mimicked this sound with the phlegm in the back of his throat as he pulled back, and back again, and felt one foot touch the cool water of the heron's puddle. the shock of the cold and the damp made him look over one shoulder and hastily back to the wolf.

with a thrust of those wings he tried to lift up, and only managed to send a dusting of soil and a little bit of the lake's surface spraying towards the creature. it would take more than that for qapnuk to get airborne given his girth.

Aneira held her ground as the vulture flared his wings, the pale slits of her eyes narrowing beneath her brow. The rumbling in her throat grew low and steady, a warning rolling from the chest like distant thunder. Her hackles lifted only slightly, enough to say don’t test me.
As the bird sputtered and kicked up water and grit, she turned her head slightly, the dust pattering against her shoulder like so much ash. Her gaze returned to him, slow and sharp, unmoved. Then, with a quiet step forward, she raised her head high, ears angled forward, asserting presence without needless noise.
She didn’t lunge, didn’t growl louder. But her silence was thick with the promise that if he flapped or hissed one beat more, she would strike. Only when he scrambled back far enough to seem no longer a nuisance did she let the tension bleed from her spine, the frost in her posture melting into indifference. „If you cannot fly, then crawl. But do it away from me.” Whatever he’d been screeching about, she doubted it was worth the effort of chasing feathers.

the last thing qapnuk wanted to do was spend any more time landlocked. he didn't have enough space to run and take off, but neither did he want to tempt the wolf who until now was imposing, and toothy, and could have grappled him and eaten him without much effort. but to stay where he was, he'd have to go back in to the heron's domain.

could vultures swim?

the wolf looked ready to pounce. he didn't dally long and backed up again, and again, and kicking with his legs tried to keep his round belly from tipping. his wings slapped the surface and any fish that might've lingered in the area promptly fled.

well, he didn't capsize—not immediately.

as the water soaked in to his feathers he gave a frustrated whistle and began to tremendous effort of paddling with feet not meant to do so.

The pale woman moved forward with measured steps, her body low and prowling, muscles coiled just beneath the surface. Enough to make a point. Her turquoise eyes gleamed with cold amusement as she watched the bird flounder. „Is that you flying?” she drawled, head tilting ever so slightly. „Looks more like drowning.” Hardly a bird at all.
The water splashed as the boulder thrashed, wings and legs flailing in chaotic rhythm. Aneira halted at the edge, watching it with the stillness of a glacier, the tip of her tail flicking once. She made no move to follow him into the shallows; just stood there, tall and pale and unbothered, like some ancient statue left to haunt the lake’s edge. But the message was clear in her posture: I could; I won’t. But I could.
Her ears flicked dismissively; „Swim faster, carrion-bird. The lake smells better without you.” And with that, she turned away, unhurried, her attention already shifting elsewhere, leaving only the echo of her words, and the sting of her eyes still burning between its feathers. Hunger did not beckon, and so the wretch was granted mercy for now. But she would return, perhaps, to trace its tracks through mud and memory, and see if death had found the so-called bird too slow to flee.