Oleander just smiled, shaking his head as Sage turned to the water. She mimicked what he had done, plunking her head beneath the surface. When she came back up for a breath, he did not expect her to have a catch. He knew beginner's luck was a thing by now, but he also knew that mussel-sifting was a skill meant to be honed.
"I don't see any," she declared.
The Valle strode back into the river, standing beside her for a moment. He turned away and walked a wolf's length from his hunting spot in the shallows. "Try here," he offered, growing still so that the water settled enough to be only disturbed by the current. His eyes narrowed, thankful for the present cloud cover. "Most shells have stripes," he lent, "and they're kinda lighter than most rocks." Well, it was a start... "Helps to learn what you're looking for. Round, but not quite round. I've found large ones attached to rocks, but the smaller ones like to cluster together. On a rock or submerged log, they'll look..." His mind played with the imagery of thistles, porcupines, and blackberry brambles, "spiky."
"Sometimes you can break them off, but they're not worth the effort. Better to find the larger ones with a bit of patience."
OLEANDER | | Nobody gets me like you do I'm not the same, not after you |