Traydon River

This river is famously known for its fish!

// sweet disposition (( Urumi ))
IP: 99.42.4.66
Posted on November 28, 2011 at 05:13:18 AM by Cashel

The tall male trotted along the river. He moved easily, his long legs moving him along the riverbank in a smooth, loose-jointed canine canter. He was a little funny looking; tall and gangly with legs like a colt's, he was colored like a border collie, mostly white with a black saddle, though a tuft of white at his shoulders stuck out considerably. His face and legs were speckled, with a brush of almost freckle-like small spots over the bridge of his maw and underneath his smiling blue eyes, and pale brown dapples on his rump like a fawn's. His tail was missing, all but a stump remained, and his ears flopped over like a dog's, but his overall build was that of a tall wolf. Cashel's slender paws sank a little into the soft ground with each step, leaving a trail of pawprints on the bank and the wispy, wiry fur around his ankles muddy. The wolf-dog didn't mind, though; mud was mud, and he could wash it off easily in the cold clear current of the Traydon River he walked beside. Cashel sighed a little as he walked. It wasn't often that he was deep in thought; some of his father's best advice had been not to dwell on things. But on crisp days like this where the sun shone dully like a coin behind the clouds and the whole world looked lonely, the wolf-dog couldn't help it.

His father had left, or was dead. His mother and brother and sister were missing, had been missing... were probably dead. And Cashel had had no idea what to do with himself since he was a pup. He'd lived off scavenging mostly, though fishing had become something of a specialty of his. In fact, he considered, turning his mind from the mysteries in his own life with relative ease and rehearsed numbness - he'd go fishing now. And why not? The wind was low, the weather was nice, he was hungry, and fishing was always good at Traydon River.

Mind made up, the young male stopped where he was and turned abruptly to face the river. He crouched a little, lean, strong, adolescent muscles coiling tensely before he launched himself into the sky. His wings exploded into their grand, full width and he soared upward, loving the rush of flight as he always did. Cashel hovered for some time, careful to keep his shadow on the shore as much as he could, bright eyes searching the clear depths of the quick river for telltale signs of fish. The fish were abundant, as always, and as soon as he caught sight of a decent school he dove from the small height, wings and limbs pinned to his frame to allow for acceleration. He hit the water with his face, giant mouth open and snapping shut on a wriggling silver body; it was a decent sized fish, Cash realized as he climbed onto shore, jaws still clamped on the fish. He was proud as he shook the water from his tall frame, water clinging to the coarse fur, dewlike. He certainly must have been a sight to see - an awkward, gangly teenager, less wolf and more dog, slamming into the river to catch a fish.

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