Whitefish River lustru

The world hummed in quiet solitude, the gentle murmur of the river guiding Hemera’s steps as she wove through the land like a wraith of golden light. No soul would provide for her; she had long accepted this truth. If she wished to quiet the gnawing in her belly, she would have to claim her own sustenance.
The last rabbit had been gone too soon, leaving nothing but the lingering taste of iron on her tongue. Hunger coiled in her stomach, pressing her forward along the winding river’s path. She had glimpsed where it led; toward a lake where the waters stretched wide and deep, a mirror of the sky itself. And there, nestled in its embrace, lay a place where the current stilled, a perfect cradle for fish.
Her steps slowed as she neared the shore, the earth beneath her paws soft and damp. She exhaled, lashes lowering as sunlight pooled over her frame, warming the sand strands of her fur. A shimmer of movement beneath the glassy surface caught her eye, and without hesitation, she waded in, the water lapping against her limbs in cool, silken waves.
She moved deliberately, each step measured, ripples curling outward from where she stood. Her breathing steadied. Hemera was no stranger to the patience the hunt required. Perhaps today, fortune would favor her.