perhaps it would better serve her to hold her tongue. the lanzadoii boy is, at best, her only company. at worst? her only company. but alas some part of her is a girl still, clinging to childish wit which rears its head as ghelan misses for the thousandth time.

"so," she speaks, blue eyes dull and humorless. "are you trying to catch the fish? or remove every drop of water from this place with your splashing?" she shakes free a few lingering droplets from her pelt before slipping into the water beside him with a grimace.

she scoffs, tail twitching.
"go on and empty the lake, then. your paws are big enough to do the trick." the ice in her gaze melts, though, at the sight of his waterlogged beard. she bites the inside of her lip to stifle a laugh at the unruly sight of him. "you look like you lost a battle with a rainstorm. badly."

and then she tries her own hand at it, remembering bittersweetly how gjalla once taught her to fish. a stern teacher she was, but a brutally efficient one. ishmira traps one of the writhing, wriggling things under one paw and looks expectantly to her companion. she has caught it, but she will not kill it.

..perhaps because the feeling of scales between her teeth makes her skin prickle.

oh, but some part of her is a spoiled girl still, and this part of ishmira rankles when the man before her does not bend immediately to her will. she hesitates for a long and painful moment, ears flat against her skull at the prospect of killing the wretched thing. and then, in a burst of what she calls courage (but is more accurately spite), ishmira's teeth meet soft, chunky flesh at the back of the fish's neck. she drops it and steps back, jaws parted and tongue lolling as if to rid herself of the feeling.

"there. it's dead. happy now? eat your damn fish." there is irritation in the twitch of her shoulders, but amusement lingers still. his sopping beard and wide eyes are difficult to glare at.

her eyes widen, but there is no time to move. the fish strikes her face hard, and she yelps, falling backward in her shock. she resurfaces after a moment, now sopping and with fur hanging flat over her eyes. for a moment rage simmers beneath her skin. what had he been thinking? or had he been thinking at all?

and then the absurdity of it all dawns on her, and a strangled laugh slips from her lips. it is entirely unladylike— a snort here, a ragged inhale there. but she can't quite stop herself either, even as embarrassment settles heavy in her gut. when at last her laughing fit subsides, she begins sheepishly to pry each scale from its skin.

he looks at her for a fleeting moment, and she finds in his single red eye a deep and penetrating sadness. some hopeless, forlorn part of her wants to go to him then— to take ghelan into her arms and soothe whatever ails him so.

she notices, too, the gentleness with which he conducts himself. he does not tower over her, domineering, as sun eater once did. there is an easygoing, well-intentioned slope to his muscular shoulders, and she decides then that ghelan, for all his mystery, is not cen lanzadoii.

would cen stand by her side when the winter bit harsh? would he feed her, catch her fish with desperate, flailing paws when food grew scarce? she squints, and can see the faint outline of akiak's ribs through his thick fur. ishmira knows her answer.

she follows him out of the water with a shining, dripping fish in her mouth, eyeing him with both amusement and interest as he resumes his fishing. not once has he asked her to help— to provide as she has seen him do.

"thank you."

content more than she will admit to him now, ishmira bows her head to eat.