Take Me to the River

My eyes are still set upon the silvery fox figure in the stream and the other, the common red. It has never occurred to me before now, that fishing, a recreation I am not partial to myself, could be as difficult as their struggle suggests. With a furrowed brow and an anticipatory gulp, I witness the team effort to reclaim victory over their victim. From my perspective, the dying fish, scarlet blood starting to visibly stain the flow of water, is the only loser present, and a small part of me wants to hurl a sharp stone at the pair of wild dogs in reprimand. I know better than to medal with the laws of nature though, and with a resigned sigh, turn my focus back to Isuma… Movement beckons my return, however, to the white, sliding away through the shallows and vanishing on, behind a  sizeable stone. Forthright, it seems that the slender beast is quite shy- That is, until the almost gangly, familiar impression of Jigano reemerges out from the same. A hesitant smile quirks the corner of my pale red lips. We, the Fae, are not unfamiliar with the art of shape-shifting, though, of course, only the most revered of our kind (usually the elderly, or those belted with experience or wisdom), are truly capable; like magic, the gods only bestow abilities upon those who’ve proven worthy. Old Mother’s soul-beast was a sweet little door mouse. Mother can soar to heights my own mind can’t even fathom, on the blue wings of a heron. Both were and are, very capable healers. “Jigano,” I hum forth across the little distance in response to his equally uncertain greeting, nodding gently all the while. “The red has a name also?” Green eyes smile towards the (other?) fox as it waits with unnatural patience for the feast to begin.