Totoka River black bear

He had done as he had told @Lestan, many days ago - survived the winter in service of Swiftcurrent, and then when spring dawned, he was gone like the melting frost. There was no point in speaking to anyone about this; like before, Kilgitsuk had his own path to travel and much to figure out for himself. He carried his trader-name with him, and the memory of the creek, as well as thoughts of his once-wife, and his sons.

It was a glorious day for travel as Kilgitsuk came upon the river. He drank heartily from its shallows, and spent the afternoon lazily fishing. It was work that kept his mind clear. Kilgitsuk was so focused on the fish, on the flow of the water, and upon the warmth of the unnaturally bright day, that he did not notice company as it drifted close.

Open to anyone!

He looked for game as well—and as it stood, game was scarce, apart from fish. He looked for fish upon the shores, but the rivers that meandered inland were his best bet.

This one was most promising.

He followed it, watching the ripples. Trying to spot the figures within the current.

Abstracted such by his hunt that he almost missed the pale burly man, standing nearby. He was caught short and chuffed, letting out a breath, his fiery eyes seeking the other's gaze in query.

He saw slivers of silver bodies shifting through the water, watching them as a bear might take aim and wait to lunge. While a bear might use its massive paws to scoop the fish up and out, or straight to its mouth, Kilgitsuk was neither as large nor as well choreographed; but he could fish, in his own way. His method was pretty standard: he waited until the largest fish was swimming close, poised with his head inches from the surface and as intensely focused as one might expect - then a lunge! A snap! Splashes of clear water turned pink with diluted blood.

And as he came away from the water, his face too was smeared with red. The fish was alive and struggling; it bat the air with its tail, and Kilgitsuk withdrew from his fishing spot to wait for the inevitable death of the target. At this point he heard the chuff of a stranger - and looked around, holding the fish, feeling its wet slapping tail and the tempo as it decreased.

He smiled around the fat thing in his mouth and as the life ebbed fully out of it, he dropped the fish and licked the slime from his lips. I greet you! Are you here for a meal? His voice was a heavy timbre, and likely scared the smaller fish away.