Then, in reply to his offer, she gave him an answer, "Fish." Another cunning smile flashed across his muzzle, though he indirectly looked at her, still glimpsing at her through the corners of his eyes. "Consider it done." For a few more moments he held still, awaiting for her word or a sound of his dismissal, and it was not with impatience or a means of challenge that he righted himself and stood just a tad lower than he usually did. Whenever she was ready to set him loose for his first task, she would release him from her sight, and his large, rounded ears eagerly awaited for her command.
The black-and-white whiskers on either side of his muzzle twitched, the faint traces of water coming to him from where he assumed the Marsh came into the Willows in little creeks and riverbeds that wound their way through the trees. There wouldn't be fish there, he knew, but the least he could do with such information was to follow one of the streams and find his way to the banks of Heartleaf Creek and hope his knowledge of fishing could be put to good use.
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