The lone claw disappears under the surface of the water, leaving ripples in the vibrant reflection of the canopy. The Mink, his belly empty and his mind spinning, strikes the shallows with both of his front paws and weasels his way back to his burrow beneath the dense shrubberies on the Northern Wedge of Dino Island.
As far as landwalkers go, neither of the isles see much action. Up until the third cycle after the giants performed their rain dance of legend, a sizeable romp of feisty otters held claim over both Dino Island and Isla Meeney. They collectively held the title of lakewalker even though they were far from the only landwalkers to swim in the waters of Monksville. Every now and then a squirrel or a ‘munkie would take a swim, usually making to escape the starved clutches of one predator or another, but sometimes those predators would follow them into the Res’. Raccoons were especially guilty of this, though more often than not they would abandon their furred prey in favor of a meal more fishy, and all breeds of denizens know how the bear likes to take himself a refreshing dip. Then there’s the beaver colony, of course, but they mostly disappeared after the construction of the beavers’ dam. Only one decided to stay in Monksville after that massive effort, one beaver named Buc’Toof, but he rarely leaves South Cove these days. He has something of a symbiosis with the vulture flock, they take care of each other; if the beaver comes across a dead body during his daily bouts of foraging, he brings it back to South Cove with him – in return, any vulture to come across the favorite twigs of Buc’Toof, the ones redolent of sugary birch when the bark is peeled back, they shear off a bundle and duly fly it back to South Cove in the evening.
But most of that would happen a long time ago, long before The Beast howled forth from The Gleam and tore Monksville a new one with the razor teeth of his jagged maw. Since that fateful third cycle many of Monksville’s waterfaring landwalkers have left to walk on fairer lands. Even the otters left, in romps and in lodges, and a great vacuum remained in their place, a vacuum that has since been filled by a new landwalker who takes no flack from any other denizen, no matter how large that denizen may be.
In this, the spring of the seventh cycle since the filling of the Mighty Mother Monksville, The Mink alone bares the title of lakewalker. The Mink alone holds burrow over the entirely of Dino Island. The Mink, terribly aggravated over the disappearance of the big, meaty claw he had been stalking around his island since the great shine rose into the sky early this morning, holds the fate of the vanished crustacean in the pads of his paws, and The Mink is only getting hungrier with each moment he remains awake. Hungrier and crankier. The crawdad will surely surface again – until then, The Mink will nap in splendor.
This has been the third subchapter of the fourth chapter of the book The Monksville Chronicles. Here is everything you need to know about it:
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