Wild Rye Fields here fishy fishy

@Cottongrass  Mid-afternoon, Fog 53 ° F, 12 ° C

she says beauty is pain

She was back, but sadly she was missing just one thing from her trip. Spending more time with the man that seemed to worm straight into her heart and infect it. However, she had a duty to return to along with the rest of her family - through she wished he wasn't just as loyal as her and came back with her when she headed out of the sequoias. With her paws slightly sore from their travels, she headed for the pond to perhaps relax them - and perhaps her mind as well - and get them back to normal. Granted, the fog continued hang over them like an ominous cloak, but that wouldn't falter the sunflower. She was on a mission whatever the weather decided to throw at her she wasn't going to mind. A swim could still be nice in the rain.

As she reached the water, there was no hesitation as she climbed right in until she was almost elbow deep. The chilling water shocked her at first, though she was resilient and kept going until eventually she knew she'd acclimate to the temperature. Peering down at her paws, she couldn't see much other than the disturbed reflection of herself. As she stared longer she was able to make out the bottom were some medium sized fish swimming just in front of her. Darting back and forth by her two front paws, the Snow woman absentmindedly continued to stare at them before she tried to bat at them with her right paw. 

and there's beauty in everything

The world was ending. There was no other possible explanation for the constant and unending fog that had settled over the land. Because it was pretty cool at first. Who didn't like being unable to see anything more than a few strides either direction! And he liked feeling lost when he stood in the middle of pack territory! It was like he was new and scared out of his wits all over again.

But then a few days went by.

And then a few more days went by.

The fog never seemed to leave. He missed being able to see his own paws and toes whenever he looked at the ground without having to bend over. And he was probably being dramatic. That the weather wasn't that bad and he was just ignoring the sunny days on purpose or something. But he wasn't all that sure anymore. He decided it was best to keep quiet. The fog would eventually leave.

He focused on waddling his way towards the distant trickle of water. The one that he knew cut through stalks of wild rye and seemed to pass through pack territory and into the open tundra. When he spotted the unique pelt of pale browns and darker greys and blacks—he didn't call out and ask her about the apocalyptic weather. Instead his paws stumbled to a halt just before the start of the bank and his tail offered a friendly wag.

"You fishing?" He called out towards her. It seemed like every single time he stumbled upon someone staring at the water they just confused him even more. Were fish supposed to be caught with jaws or paws? It was a mystery. One that he probably wouldn't figure out any time soon.