Duck Pond

Áskell was starting to feel better. He plunged his mind into studying his mother's clan and their culture. Trying to learn the language was proving particularly taxing but he needed the distraction, the little goals each day to apply himself to. Whenever he felt grief starting to claw up his throat he could look to his list for his next goal and focus on that and sometimes it worked… some times it didn't, but after the grief had lifted he had direction.

Today he'd followed other members of his new pack to a festival. He really didn't know what to think of it and in some ways it was a bit overwhelming. All the same he attempted to enjoy himself, or at least live the day in some neutral state of acceptance. He had stopped near a booth where a coydog called out for participants to join in a little duck hunting game. Waiting his turn he stepped up and dove for the nearest wooden duck.