Porcupine Island ouroboros

@Otter

After spending several days hunting among the lakeferns and lilypads, chasing down everything from elk and egrets to pike and web-toed lizards, Skellington still found himself feeling restless. He had chased more than he had caught, and yet the wolf managed to put on several pounds even despite his poor win-ratio. But bulking up didn't seem to be his goal, and when he wasn't trying to gorge himself on anything that dared to be prey around him, the unsavory titan could be found sleeping. Bold and in the open, even when it rained. Anyone observing him these three days might note that these things -- the lashing out at anything that moved, the overly constant sleeping, the carelessness -- seemed to be done out of stress.

It was dawn when he woke again; with a light drizzle piddling against his spine, and a rising sun to blind him. Skellington rose stiffly, grunting when the side of his neck smarted during his stretch. The brute thought again of his assailant, his own progeny, and turned his ire towards the waterfront as he plodded towards it.

The lake was rippled and dimpled by the soft rainfall, making for a sweet melody that Skellington ignored as he splashed into the water. At first he bathed, getting acclimated to the chill seeping into his hardening neck wound, but what had started as a bath suddenly turned into a swim. In an effort to expel some of the pent-up energy he had brewing to critical levels inside of him, he set his dark eyes on the distant island, and paddled through the swollen lake.