Whitefish River You're going to get what you deserve.

Y--r -nj-r-d, Came a voice from the shore, or at the very least, from adjacent to where he stood. The water was seeping in to both of his ears and distorting things a bit, making the comment unclear. Prompted to lift himself free of the water by the sound of it, Firefly did so - a flick, a splash as his snout raised from the surface, and some dribbling water were all that characterized the moment until the woman's voice came again. Clearer this time, and almost insistent, in a way that appealed to Firefly deep down but also irritated him. Who was this woman? Who was she to command him?

Rivulets of pinkish water continued to drip from his chilled face, running off his chin. He almost didn't move. The cold of the water gradually lessened though, and the ache came back; the pink turned red, staning his dark snout with a crimson gleam, and he knew he couldn't stand in the middle of the river all day like an asshole.

So, dragging his heels a bit, Firefly returned to the shallows and hoisted himself to the bank, only to stop and sit almost like a petulant child and glance towards the woman. She looked healthy (perhaps even pretty, except with a little more weight than would normally appeal to him). He dragged his tongue over his nose and winced slightly when his tongue caught the end of the gouge where it bisected the top of his nose - and with a huff, stood up and approached her properly.

This time as he neared he stopped and watched her, and moved his head so she could get a look. It reminded him so much of his visits to Erzulie that his chest hurt - but Firefly refused to let himself miss anyone, or anywhere, even if Rusalka had been the last proper home he'd really had.