The pale granite rock was warm enough to be a draw to the snake, coiled there on top of it. The spray of the colder water didnt quite reach her.

Body looped, only her long neck extends; head hovering over the shallows of the river. Her forked tongue flicks once, twice, thrice; tasting the chill of the water and the shivvering movements of the ripples.

The snake didnt suspect she'd been observed, clearly, or else it would've moved back intothe seclusion of the brush; sneaky beasts that they were.

Her movtive becomes clear a heartbeat later. A flash of movement; Whitescale's head dives into the water with the strength of her neck behind it. The temperature is a shock to a creature with no fur or warm blood, and she draws her head back sharpley with a hiss.

Blood colors her scaled lips, and the forked tongue flicks out to clean. Her quarry, a perch, wallows away into the depths missing half of its tail and a good portion of flesh, but the fangs had failed to bite deeply enough into the slippery fish.

With loose fishscales and the taste of blood in her mouth, Whitescale is hungry, and coils again there on the bank like a menacing statue.

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