truth is beautiful without doubt; but so are lies (ralph waldo emerson)
The water of the river was cool on his silken black paws, spiting around him and twinkling in the bright sunlight that backed across his obsidian back. Sanguine had wandered off as she was wont to do as she grew older and steadily more bold. He had grown quite fond of her company in the last two seasons; her presence had been an unexpected boon in his life after Naamah had disappeared. The only consolation to his bitterness at not only having been rejected by the raven tinted goddess was that she had abandoned the mate she had chosen over him as well. And she had finally admitted to Sanguine who her real father was, the same father who had found her alone and shivering in the cavern vacated by Naamah. It was pleasing to have her with him, even in her annoying moments as all children have when he wished only to snap at her to shut up and give him peace.
For now he would let her wander the forests and seek her own fortune among them while he waited patiently for the silver scaled fish to creep too close to his legs. Well, he tried to wait patiently. The sun's rays on his back was uncomfortable to a point that he stood with his jaw agape and panting, ears pressed backwards in annoyance at how long this was taking. At the point when he was almost ready to give up and seek the shadow of a strand of trees nearby the water glinted off a scale that drew within range of his white fangs.
Quick as a viper he strikes, his head dipping into the water and teeth puncturing scales, flesh, and bone and he throws it immediately onto the land and lunges out of the coolness of the river. Water runs off him in rivulets, much to his dismay for it would take precious time to comb his hair back into perfection so that it rested sleek and shiny against his lean figure. Enderly was a handsome male - he knew it and often used it to his advantage. With silver eyes that stood out against the sharp black of his fur and silver hairs flecked along his tail and muzzle he cut quite a dashing figure.
He was not like many males - he was rather short and lean, no gladiator but he used his swiftness to his advantage. And the barbed tongue that rested within his mouth capable of telling lies without a hitch and wheedling truths from smitten mouths. He was no saint, that was for certain. But he also never claimed to be.
Snatching up the fish, which turned out to be quite a fatty morsel, he stalks to the shade he had longed for only moments before and stretched out, one paw holding the suffocating creature beneath his paw while he cast furtive glances around the riverside. A meal he had, yes, but the fine company of another, that would a dinner make. Sanguine would be back soon most likely but Enderly found no harm in inviting others along for the ride; he lifts his head and lets loose an echoing cry that invites any nearby to join him, Dutch of course, for he wasn't about to wade back in to serve another.