Whitefish River Little White Fish

Carelessly, mindlessly he watched the waters as the fish swam through them effortlessly. Their fins cutting through the water in an elegant glide, it was beautiful really, now that he took the time to watch them instead of trying to hunt them. All he did was gather snow as time went on, eventually he might even be buried depending how long he would remain motionless - and if the snow picked up its pace.

But something spooked them. The tranquil ballad of the fish was interrupted as they quickly swam downstream, away from something that apparently must be coming near. A flicker of the ear caught the odd new sound of the water flow, disrupting its melody as something, or someone was wading within. 

Shifting his gaze, his head followed as it moved into the direction, finally, his honey eye landing on the odd-looking pale wolf-like woman in the water. He watched her carefully, perhaps a little too intensely. What kind of encounter was this going to turn out to be? I thought I was the only one who enjoyed polar dips. Was all he offered. Especially after his last encounter with Tundra, he was beginning to think the South was void of anyone who appreciated cold water the way he and his family did.