Brynhildr's stomach growled. The season of plenty, of rebrith, of life and she hadn't been able to snag a fresh bite to eat for almost three days. If it hadn't been for that discarded bear kill she might be in serious trouble, and even that was all but gone now. A string of bad luck and worse timing had really put a twist in her tail, putting the fiery fae in a bad mood. She was laying on her back, trying to pass some time with cloud watching, put hunting on hold until sunset when the prey would be worn out from their daily travels. "Screw this," she muttered, rolling over and up, then shaking out her fur. There would be more clouds tomorrow, but only if she didn't keel over first.
The woman made her way through the sparse trees, warm sunlight dappling on her back. It might have been soothing under other circumstances. The sound of running water drew her in like a fish on a line, ("Mmm, fish...") and she picked up her pace when she say sunlight glimmering on water up ahead. Fishing wouldn't be so bad, right? Maybe a little sloppy but nice and cool, plus food. She crept towards the bank, keeping a careful eye on her shadow less it cast over the water and startle anything lurking below. She sat there, poised and watchful. Nothing, no glimmer or shimmer of scales. She slunk over the lip of earth and into the narrow creek, making certain to stay very still. The water came midway up her leg, tickling as it tugged her coat this way and that. C'mon, you little bastards, she groused within her mind.
