Heartleaf Creek What if I fall, and hurt myself?

And then she grinned back, and it was open and warm and he saw none of the expected malice in it. Something inside of the boy uncoiled and sprang free, and his tail began to vibrate as it shook from side to side so rapidly. Even now, though, it wasn't a big deal, and he watched as her attention went back to the fish, to their mission, because this wasn't significant to her - it was all normal to her, and so, for now, he could act like it was normal for him too.

Once more he held his breath, but she missed her mark again and was left with nothing but a slap of fin and a wet mark on her face, but Duck only smiled at her, because what fisher hadn't come to that fate at some point? It was that she dove in once more, snapping at another fish which had jumped over the edge - the pair of wolves had rather gotten the creatures riled up and active now, he could see them flitting wildly about under the surface - and this time she raised her head, victorious. Duck barked once at her triumph, feeling as though her success had been his own. How weird was that?!

Now that stealth and careful timing was no longer on the cards, Duck (who was still up to his elbows in the water) decided to just go for it. Another fish made the jump, and he reached for it, but too slow; two then came at once, but they evaded his grasp, but by that point he didn't really care. So many were emerging at once that he'd get a lucky catch eventually - and for once he was inspired by his company rather than intimidated, and on a completely different point, splashing around in the creek like a loon was just stupid fun.

Am happy for you to do a time passing and decide how un/successful they are after it :3

Nightingale grinned past the fish, tail waving all the more when he barked at her success. Her heart was full of excitement, energy, and happiness to hear the sound that echoed her thoughts, a verbal high-five that had gotten her eager to do more. She threw the fish past the bank, and watched Duck. Even with his failures, Nightingale barked encouragingly while getting elbow deep herself and trying her hand.

In these moments, when what you did surpassed who you were, her typical milquetoast behaviors were forgotten in favor of the time that was being had. Nightingale mimicked Duck and failed right along with him, and the waters washed over them. Despite their cool temperature she felt only warmth, and her own attempts were halfhearted now. She chomped at the water excitedly, it was something like a reflex. Like sooner or later, something might end up in there but also, it was fun. She looked ridiculous, but was having too much of a good time to think anything of appearances.

The duo both succeeded in catching a fish. When her companion caught his first, Nightingale whooped jubilantly, her low eager croons given with the flattening of her ears and a baying whooooo-whooo-whoooooo. Her whiskered face was soaked to the brim, chin furs clinging together and creating its own waterfall into the stream below. If he caught more, she repeated the ritual; she herself managed to catch three, total, and that was enough for her. She found that she had not really been trying, but her glomping—to the dismay of the fish—was more effective than Gale had supposed.

At present, she looked at him with all the warmth of the world, panting heavily and giving a moments pause.

The sound of her celebration at his success was, quite simply, nectar of the gods. There was a rush in his chest area which was quickly spreading all over his body which felt foreign and weird but damn if it didn't also feel good. Even though it normally wouldn't have made any sense, even though he had never taken joy in someone else's victories other than this own or occasionally his mother's, when Nightingale caught her second, the small pale boy found himself whooping at her in turn, his tail a frantic blur behind him which, quite frankly, was putting off his balance but... who cared?!

By the time their jubilant and entirely unorthodox fishing was over, both wolves successful but tired, her count was three and his was two. Well, one and three quarters, technically, but it wasn't really his fault that he had snapped so hard at his second caught fish that he had bitten it near clean in two, its head falling back into the creek below with little more ceremony than a wisp of blood. It was more than enough; one for his mother and one for the cache, which was all he had wanted in the first place.

His heart was thumping, which wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, but it wasn't from anxiety or fear or even just the physical exertion. Once it was clear that the majority of the fish had passed, that both of them were satisfied, he stopped lashing about and just stood in the water, panting lightly, his gaze coming about naturally to Nightingale's face.

His tail gave another wag, and as the rush in his blood slowed, the exhilarated grin on his face melted into something far more shy (if no less happy). Deciding that he would wait to process whatever was happening to him for later, because it was really really easy to just forget all his instincts in that moment, he glanced away for a moment before making eye contact again, his tail drooping and slowing but not quite able to stop entirely. The look on her face was infectious.

He swallowed, chewed at a lip, and felt the water gurgle past his paws. "Y-you're okay."