The wind pushed Finn along as she stepped closer to the lagoon. Her mind began to spark, and she halted in her tracks. Narrowing her eyes, she racked her brain of memories. She had been here before. The summertime had come around, and she had been attempting to catch a bass here. A small smile tickles her lips, and she cannot help but to grin even in this horrible cold. A swish of her tail propelled her onward. With ginger steps, she places her paws on the edge of the ice to test the weight hold. Small ears respond to the sound of ice cracking, and, with gazelle-like grace, the woman leaps off of the ice. The pressure of her push creates a moderately sized crack, allowing fresh and unfrozen water from beneath to seep to the surface.
The small woman turns her head to look at what she has done. Cautiously, she cranes her head downward and approaches the crack in the ice. Her pale pink tongue laps at the water that washes over the ice. Her stomach then reminded her that she was hungry, but there were no fish that would be retrieved from the water today. With a stifled sigh, she turns away from the break in the ice. Boredom begins to torture her mind again.
The thinned woman lopes through the snow now, her pale umber eyes scanning the snow as she does so. There was no prey around at all. Disappointment begins to make her irritated. Her lips return to a neutral position; her face does not express amusement anymore. She comes to a slow as she rounded the lagoon. Old cattails are barely visible from the receding snow, but she approaches a small bushel of them anyway. Her small white paws work at the snow around them until she creates a place to lay. With a few twirls to find a comfortable spot, she settles. The dead and brittle cattails provide some shelter from the wind that was at her back.