Iridescent Lagoon you're up for it before you've grown

She had never been so happy to see water. Back home, water was in every fiber of her coat, wet between her paws, wet in the air and on the trees, in the cool bellies of fish, and, most of all, in all of the rain and fog. It was inescapable. But aside from spring snow and the occasional mountain stream, the lagoon was the first body of water at all comparable to the ocean she was used to. Small, in comparison, sure. But big water nonetheless.

She drank first, and then began to stalk around the edges, peering over rocks and logs into the silty shoreline. For a while, nothing, but eventually: a flash of bloody red stripes beneath her shadow. She stood still and quiet, jaw slack and hovering just above the surface, waiting. A few moments passed until the color came again, Leon snapped her teeth beneath the surface, and came up with a mouthful.

A mouthful of slimy red lakeweed, that is. She let it fall off of her teeth and tongue with a bleeech and a cough that was one slimy tendril away from a gag. Not a salmon.