Cantique lays her fishing pole down. Looking around to be sure she is alone, she removes her clothing and walks into the water. Bending foward, Cantique ducks her head and swims underwater until she is nearly breathless. Bouncing up and gasping for air, she keeps her eyes closed and stands squishing the mud between her toes. She can feel the barest whisper of air against her exposed shoulders and her skin bumps up against the chill. Suddenly, she hears a faint splash. and ducking to her eyeballs quickly scans the area, turning slowly.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a faint blue-green movement in the water today as I was swimming. I resisted the urge to hurry back to shore -- I knew the movement of my body through the water would be felt by the murloc -- In fact, I was surprised it hadn't already noticed me. I stayed very still and watched as the creature swam in the shallow water across from me using its hands to feel the rocks, mud, and plants. As it turned its head toward me, I tensed, ready to cast my most effective shadow spell. As it continued its turn, I saw its white sightless eyes. How had it managed to live without sight? I watched as it dove, scrabbling quickly and re-emerged stuffing something into its mouth.
I knew that because of its blindness, its sense of temperature changes and movement of water was assuredly heightened along with its sense of hearing -- if it could hear. Of that I was unsure. I continued watching as the creature slowly made its way around the bank. I realized that my fishing pole was laying within reach of the edge of the pondwater and knew that it was only a matter of minutes before it would be discovered by the Murloc which was continuing its feel-search around the edge of the water. I didn't know what to do. I held my breath as the murloc ran its hand up the length of the pole, its finger following the line back up toward the grip. As it did so, it slowly climbed out of the water and onto the shore.
As soon as I could see it was totally free of the surface of the water, I ducked under and made my way as quickly as I dared to the opposite bank working hard to hug the bottom of the pond. Hoping that the creature was still out of the water, I put my hands into the mud and pulled myself into the shallows and out onto the mudbank behind some tall reeds. Nothing happened. I stood up, mud streaming slowly down my body and looked for the murloc. He wasn't on the bank by my fishing pole. I saw movement on top of the water and bent forward, squinting against the setting sun...The bottom corner of my woven creel was sticking up in the water, making small ripplets. It had taken my fresh catch and was swimming across the pond with it. I stood and watched as it left the pond and disappeared over a small rise dragging my fish with it. Well. No fish for lastmeal today.
Cantique carefully pushes the tiny cork into her ink bottle and resharpens the nib of her quill with a small knife. After tucking her paper in the keepbox and setting the writing utensils on top, she turns back to her table. She picks up her dinner dish and carries it outside to set out under a tree at the edge of her clearing for the night creatures to find. She hears the sound of a Murloc warbling happily in the distance as she sets the leftover fin soup on the ground.