Dragoncrest Cliffs Archerfish

Swordfish deftly identified a good position for their blind. The young lad had a sharp wit and good humor, to boot. “Keen eye,” Njord praised. He climbed atop their fort and settled down sphinx-like, legs coiled beneath him like action-packed springs.

“Now, we must wait for ‘im tae make an appearance. Should we see one, I will hold ‘im down fer you tae make tha kill,” Njord explained. ‘“S’good we hunt together, two fangs r’always better than one.” The slippery beastie would not escape their duo!

—

Some time passed before faint splashing sounds could be heard along the bank. Njord nudged Swordfish (in case he had fallen asleep), ears cupped forward. Under the cover of darkness, Mr. Beaver waddled into their copse for a meal, unaware he was watched.

“Ready?” Njord whispered, muscles flexed taught.

A beat passed. The man lept from their post! The beaver squealed in fright and turned to make a dash for the safety of the bog. Slick mud made it difficult to give chase, but Njord made a long lunge and caught the beaver by the end of the tail. It turned and struggled. Would it escape?