{$title} Those twolegs sure seem to enjoy cooking their weird fresh-kill over little fires! They leave some behind, ripe for the taking. Are you interested enough to take a bite?
The ocean is in my soul,
And it's pulling me back to shore.
I'm letting go of the weight that's dragging me down.
And it's pulling me back to shore.
I'm letting go of the weight that's dragging me down.
.
Sharp eyes were fixated upon the camp ahead, ears pricked and whiskers twitching at the mouth-watering scent that drifted on the breeze. Cooked fish. Her stomach gave a rumble fierce enough to rival the river's current. It felt like forever since she'd tasted such a thing, warm, smoky, soft against the tongue. Her old sea captain had often shared morsels like that with her back in the day, tiny bits of perfection that had made every storm-tossed voyage worth it. Especially the salmon, ah, stars above, the salmon!
For a heartbeat, the memory swept her away, the crack of waves against the hull, the sea-spray on her face, laughter carried by the wind as her captain handed her a share of freshly cooked fish. Then, with a small shake of her head, Wavesong pulled herself back to the present. There was no ship now, only forest, clanmates, and a seemingly abandoned twoleg camp that smelled of smoke and salt. " A'ight. " she murmured, the corners of her mouth curling into a mischievous grin as she looked to those gathered beside her. " Stay close t'me, ye hear? We'll have us a lil' taste o' these fish, cause aye, they're fish, an' they're good, but we move careful. We don't want t'alarm any twolegs if they come back early. " Her tail flicked in emphasis, voice low but playful.
The camp lay eerily still. The twolegs were gone, but their scent clung stubbornly to the ground, thick and strange. She recognized some of the remnants scattered around, bright fabrics, metal tools, blackened stones that still reeked faintly of fire. It stirred another half-memory in her mind, of tales told by the shore. " Ain't this what they do once a season? " she murmured. " Some kinda... Tradition. Can't recall the word no more... " Her gaze returned to the glistening scraps of fish near the cold ashes of the firepit. She licked her lips, crouching low, every muscle coiled.
" Slow an' steady wins th'race. " she whispered to the others, eyes glinting like sunlight on water. Step by step, she crept toward the prize, the promise of warmth, food, and maybe a story to tell later by the riverside. After this, they'd hunt their fill. The river would provide, as it always did, but for now? For now, she'd take this small blessing from the sea and stars alike.
Speech, thoughts/emphasis
