Limoira
The mornings are the best and the worst time for fishing, yet here I am for exactly that. The fish in the last spot I searched were a little more, eh, immobile. Dead. Sleeping in their habitual nature of avoidance. It really makes for a lot of work to get anything edible, as they really keep low to no meat on such small things.
So, I'm trying this spot. I've been here a few times, but I always find it's overfished by the time I get to it. I expect nothing less now, either. Just a bunch of hounds scented on the air, fish having scattered from where many tried to gopher the water in search of them.
Yet, as I even approach the area, there is another close by, as well, watching for any signs of motion, himself. Ever the fool's errand boy, that one, isn't he?
Myself? I am merely here because I'd rather not sleep in the misty mounds of hounds that adorn Iromar at this time of day. I'm bored, quite frankly, and will be as happily bored here as in the shadows of the past prideful ones. Like my father, for instance. Hello, drama "king".
Wading into the cool drink, I'm suddenly wondering what sort of sap has himself stuck on the sidelines in the sand, when he starts making his way closer.
And, out of the corner of my eye, a little blip appears on my radar in the water.
POUNCE!
No time wasted on thought, the little wiggling tail pushes against the current in vain, held down with the weight of my forepaw. The other guy can approach or leave or whatever if he wants to, but I've gotta hand it to the guy.
He sure knows how the run the fish away from him.
Baphomet x Ishtar
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