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"Ahhh.... Take a whiff o' that breeze!"

A right hand, and the purple hide that covered it, combed over his emptying chest, gently running claws through the field of black hair. An idle habit, for what was today an idle Nidoking... Two hours' drive from home, Eighty's sharply-pointed toes plodding down the rocky lakeshore, deep enough to mat and "water-glue" the strands on his ankles. Burbles of wind-rippled waves, the scent of lilies and evergreens, sunlight returned from the clear blue surface; quite worthy of his overt bliss.

Clad in little more than blue athletic shorts, his left palm wrapped the combined girth of a cooler handle, and his tried-and-true fishing pole. Behind, strolled the one to which he'd 'played up' the fresh air; long, svelte fox, a mop of ebony creeping from under his straw hat, Semille's thin form poured into black jeans and a sepia-graphic tee. Lanky arms carried the grand total of a light-red lure box, and an iPod.

Of the pair, one half wasn't totally within his element. "Yeah, it sure is... Air, out here." Vulpine head swiveled up and around, taking in everything from wind-twisted treetops, to his mate's lighthearted glare. "How long before we sit down? I skipped breakfast, and my gut's about to chew on my diaphragm."

Two eyes rolled, between a jet-black goatee and the same hue nestled by royal spikes and ears. "Well this is sufficient, I guess." Strolling in a bit deeper, low-rolling waves broke against his kneecaps. "I was hopin' to go more out in the open, like over there," He pointed with his non-heavied hand, to a distant expanse, "But this can work, as well." Sinking down to the cool, ever-dampened sand, he raked his free digits over pebbles and mountain oystershells, clearing his boy a spot before setting his wares above the tide.

Trained on the thin-sculpted fox making his way over, Nido gaze could barely miss the subtle shudders of his gait. Once the vulpine strolled up - fur bristling by the buried goosebumps - and plopped down by the bulk of his side, he spoke through compassionate bass. "You alright?"

His company shrugged. "Just cold... Homesick for my jacket." A pair of blue orbs centered on the hairy male, scooting up to partake of his body heat. "You should be worse off than me... You're dressed like it's Venice Beach in August."

Muscle-girded limb wrapped over his partner's shoulder, pit fuzz brushing the tight fabric. "Blame the insulation", he smirked, staring briefly down at his 'beardaddie' muscle-gut. "Plus, I'm partial to cold... It's invigorating."

"If you say so." Snarked the becapped fox, one paw moving straight over his brow, shading as he watched sands of the opposite shore... Movement, the source of which was a tangle of tannish specks. Squinting for greater focus, he barely noticed the sound of a lure-box unlatching, captivated by what started to look like two figures in a serious tussle.

One hand went behind, intending to tap his mate on the shoulder and gain his attention; but the index finger was met with something soft and wet. Quickly craning his neck to the rear, the reaction was a disgust-laden "Ewwggghh", and recoiling just hard enough to kick sand out with his fast-moving tush.

Eighty, amused but nonchalant, twisting the culprit onto his hook. "Wow, hon, I didn't know you had such a hands-on relationship with nightcrawlers," he managed through stifled chuckles.

The rather-miffed fox shot to his feet, moving in silence to regain his pose next to his Nidoking. This, culminating in a play-slap on the bearded cheek. "Keep it up, and I'll make you jealous of that thing, if you catch my drift." He adjusted his straw cap, wrapped arm around the beefy shoulder and pointed to the far side. "Anyway, do you see what I'm seeing?"

A fuzz-girdled face slightly elevated, gaze narrowing to frame the distant brown combatants. "That, is a Stantler... And a regular buck." His face acquired suitable surprise.

"I know, you ever seen anything like that?" trilled Semille, his head now beside his man's. He turned to face the stout Nido... His heart nearly skipping a beat, catching whiff of a spiced cologne. Shaking off his pleasant diversion, he resumed gaze on the quadriped-quarrel, and scooched closer to lock their cheeks.

It would seem his mate was rather distracted. "Well it's a nature preserve, I'm sure it ain't all that rare... Still, it's interesting and all, but I could easily tell you the ending. Bucks may be handsome stock, but they can't exactly fire off a Thunder Wave."

Another playful sock, this time a chucking of the chin. "That wasn't the point, silly." The higher-pitched fox moved away, enough to comfortably rub his partner's back. "You just have to think about everything. Always."

"Yep, and right now I'm thinkin' of the prize catch I'll be taking home." Leaning back, carefully so as not to prick the vulpine with his hook, the line arced up and away, following the click of his reel. "Trout, tender and piquant. Salmon, honey-braised and grilled. Carp... Well... We can always pick up some high-powered seasonings on the way back." He sat motionless, almost hypnotized by a gentle up-and-down of the bobber.

He felt the loss of contact with a set of fox fingers, while their owner put hands behind his head to lay back on the sand... Breezes were dying out, and straightaway his chills were in the past. "Well if we play the waiting game, like most fishermen, I'll just be catching some sun. At least I don't have to fret over it."

Eighty's sideward glare was an unspoken 'fuck you'. Fur gave thick, sheer protection... Body hair, thick in most places, meant he'd seen his share of burns... Judging by the light tan on either side of his bushy 'frontal' zone. A simple, lighthearted jab from his mate was all too common, and quickly forgotten. "So you don't care to see any more of the fight? They're really goin' at it, right now." Faint clacks, from two sets of antlers.

Semille did his best to shrug, with elbows caught on the shore. "You just told me what should happen. I've no reason to doubt you."

"Fair enough." Purple grip remained on his long, firm tool... While it trolled for a good bite.

Exhausted of interest, and seeing little else to do, the eyes of a bemused fox steadily lowered, giving in to the soothe of warm daylight. This, lasted just long enough for Eighty to kick up his own heels - 'moderate work' in the angler world - before those same fox eyes shot open like a beer can at a bonfire.

"-Wait, if there's Stantler over there, then there's a good chance-"

His observation, cut short by a startled yell in Eighty's voice. Jerking up from his sand-ful repose, he met with a self-explanatory sight... Hairy legs, locked in a stance of guarded fury, a yard from where their owner had sat. The still-baited pole lay prone across shreds of kelp; above them, flopping wildly about, the clammy heft of a suffocating Seaking.

Gruff words, panting and verily annoyed. "God-damn dumbass... Do I look like the mother fuckin' WORM?" Pointed feet stepped forward, and the left one craned right to punt the water 'mon away with its broad side, skipping it a single time across the lake's surface. He glanced back to his mate; the latter barely staved off his surging laughter, but the look he received was proof enough that Eighty was aware. "Go ahead, laugh it up. I got no excuse for not expectin' that, anyway."

Semille took the advice and gave in, head hanging low while it bobbed from his breathy guffaws. Composure was slow - but steady - in returning. "Well I only just thought of it the second before, so I'll share the blame." Gaze centered past his fuzz-cloaked mate. "You wanna grab the reel, before it's claimed by a wetter owner?"

"Yeah, not a bad idea." He moved to kneel, and retrieve the fallen pole. Arms gave a light swing in doing this, slightly-exposing the jungles of his pits, thick and pristine.

Easily catching this, the now-in-brighter-mood vulpine revisited the chestbound leap from earlier, and wasn't savvy of his tongue poking out to trace the berth of his lips. In all likelihood, this would only spin the day even better, as his smiling scramble to gritty footpads would suggest. "You wanna give it another try, maybe in that place over there you wanted to go?" He pointed for the same wide expanse from earlier. "I can bait the hook if you want, and inbetween I'll give your feet a nice rubdown." By the time he concluded, his paws wrapped the Nido from behind, over stout royal shoulders, running fingers through the forest of jet-black on his chest.

Naturally, he took great pleasure in the growling murr-s that followed, as their maker gazed up with loving-yet-guileful eyes. "Well this is a shift of attitude... Not that I'm complainin'." One hand raised to stroke the side of his mate's arm.

"Um, yeah... Not cold anymore, I've had a good laugh and the fresh air's growing on me." A quick glimpse of the far shore, gave proof that the mismatched fighters had fled.

Eighty's purrlike growls proceeded at even keel. "Glad to hear. Go ahead and crack open that cooler if you want, have yourself a heapin' helpin' of-"

He cut himself short, for the same reason now commanding Semille's view. A massive, white-tinted lump, mere meters below the lake's surface, quickly spreading over what had been blue undercurrent. It happened at breakneck speed; barely two seconds elapsed, between the water's slight heave from its growing mass, and when the cream-coloured culprit broke through the water tension, showering the pair with gallons of heavy spray. Four arms, coming up to wipe four eyes, just as the bitter pierce of a mournful cry thundered around them.

Eighty's jaw flung wide, while the sight of his fox disappeared behind him. Over the water, eight feet of cream-hue joined with brilliant red, and a splash of crystal blue near the bottom. The pure, unbridled majesty of a wild Milotic... And the handsome spread of its cold, cold stare from above.

One word, escaped Eighty's chops. "... Fucknuggets."

For an extended moment, the aquatic siren's gaze tore from them, to survey the beach surrounding them. Resuming furied focus, it made the introduction of its speaking voice... mid-to-high-pitched, lilting, but hints of masculinity. "Another hapless pair, out to desecrate my dwelling. Or, did I catch you before you had a chance to pare the numbers?" Its slender head shook firmly, releasing more spray to shoot for Eighty's face. A long, intimidated squint, while his partner stared awestruck from behind. He'd never seen this sort of legend, and there was no denying its beauty; but not with such obvious ire, dripping like the fresh water from its finlike whiskers.

Eighty, in a deep breath, posed the clear question. "Pare the numbers? Afraid you'll have to explain... We meant you no harm, didn't even know you're here; we just wanna catch some dinner, and be on our way, nothin' more."

The mammoth blue tail whipped out from the water, faintly looping in the sunlight, before slamming down on the surface, sending a jet so powerful it knocked Eighty - and the fox up against him - fully off his feet. Mercifully, the jet came slightly from the side, so the spikes of his Nido-spine stuck in the sand, rather than the back of his mate.

Purple 'royalty' was forced to hear the beast lying down, doing sit-up motions to unearth his spikes from the grit. "EXACTLY," it roared, large eyebrow-like fins bent to the appropo anger. "You devil fishermen, and your morbid craft. Seize my children from their home, steal their life away like it's nothing. To you, it's even less than nothing. I've seen much of your kind..." The vaguely-male serpentfish watched Eighty's form freed from the sand, rising to his feet in a flash and a battling stance. "... Albeit, of a more human persuasion, but no matter. They chat, they laugh, they take pleasure in the ritual slaughter. And some even change their minds mid-way, leaving my babies with dire wounds and disfiguring marks."

Semille, shaking off the shock of groundward catapult, rose carefully to his unassured feet. Hearing all to this point, his hands wrapped Eighty's shoulders, while his lips went for the Nido's ear. "It's Feebas that grow to be Milotics, right?" He whispered. "I've seen renderings... Scarred all over, holes in their fins. Maybe this... Monster has a point, and it is a major problem."

Royal eyes cut to the side, with a shred of mirth. "If that's the case, then this thing's kids are the 'special class' of the sea. Wouldn't be surprised if they dare each other to go for a hook, right after losing one toAGGHHH-"

Razor-sharp tailfin, zoomed to within a hair of his neck. This time, Semille could react, moving to recoil in unison with his purple male. While both stepped back, horrifed by this confirmation of rage, the vindictive legend swam forwards to compensate. "The barest heightening of effort, and your blood would be soaking the sand. I don't suppose you'll exclude me from any further mumbles?" Briefly suspending its outward fury, the same fin that so nearly tore Eighty asunder, rose to its mouth in a coy, mocking gesture.

Doing everything to quell his nature - and not dash to rip open the piscal adversary - Eighty's palms gently elevated, for a try of diplomacy. "Two points, if you'll be so kind as to hear me out. First, what you describe sounds more like a sport fisherman, and I won't argue those guys aren't the scum of the angler world..." He paused, to look towards where the buck had made his prior stand, "... Much like only a true redneck would enjoy fillin' mammals with buckshot, for hoots and hollers. Sad to say both still exist." Gaze trained back on the daunting serpentfish, who sat in a benevolent listening. "Second, if you can forgive the question... Would you consider all fish in this lake your... Children? If so, we can just pack up right now, it's not worth a fight to the death on either side. Ten seconds, and you'll never hear from us again."

Until the last moment, the dubious serpent seemed to be with them. All at once, peaceful mien shattered, the brow-fins shot to a total scowl, and the stab-ready tailfin slammed down to rocket beneath the waves, propelling it even closer to the shore. Eighty's eyes, were never wider... In suitable concern, his fox happened to glance at the violet features, in just the right moment to read his silent lips. "The fuck did I choose that of all phrases..."

Milotic seethed down at a duo of bodies, the thinner caught in rampant trembles, holding fast to his 'Kingly mate. "To the death, on either side, you say?" Sirenlike tone found new highs of resplendent rage, their source within easy spitting distance. "So you believe you'd actually have a chance... I consider that a threat, and I'll gladly accept." Raising contoured crown to the skies, its jaw flung wide to breathe a thick cloud, growing to obscure the sun above them. Head lowering, its simple anger had taken on a share of smug assurance. "One less blackheart in the world... I can easily live with the guilt."

Eighty, stifling any outward fear that may have risen, glanced to the moisture above, reacting with a solid, grievant jerk. "Mother of... Ice crystals. Perfect." For a short second, one hand came up to rub his temples, more for preparation than stress.

Semille, shivering for the dual cause of shade and terror, unfortunately caught his mate's gripe. "Wh-what, what's worse about it being ice?"

Nido neck swung halfway to meet the dismayed vulpine. "I know you're not much on Pokébiology, mine or anyone else's, but it's bad enough for a 'Ground' like me to take water. Ice is more like, well, if someone held a lit torch to your chest."

Eighty's bare honesty wasn't helping, as the trembling grey fingers would dictate. "You mean, you d-don't think we can-"

At last, the fuzz-wrapped Nidoking caught on to his mate's apprehension. "-I'll kick this guy's nonexistant ass, no problem. I'm just saying, no matter what happens, it ain't gonna be too much fun." With focus recentered on the barely-patient waterbeast, he hunkered down, gently pushing back his fox. "Go, the trees back there. If you wanna help, do it by stayin' out of harm's way."

Semille - knowing little reason to protest - gave a shallow nod, quick-stepping through the sand to do as instructed.

Hearing footsteps of an obedient 'charge', instilled a measure of confidence; Eighty's lowered stance, like that of a pro-football quarterback, came with a calmly-powerful grin. "No trainers, no rules, no mercy. Just like it's supposed to be." His gruff bass amplified, ensuring the Milotic would hear. "So the only question, is who goes first?"

It was hard to tell which dominated, in the handsome serpent; continued rage, or a growing amusement. Either way, his intense howl could fit. "There's no questioning that... I'm the cheated protector here, and advocate for countless victims. You will wait..." Cream-colour neck reared back, and the air seemed to cool comprehensively, "... And if anything's LEFT of you, we'll engage."

Taking on an unspeakable load of oxygen, his body surfaced even further, casting twelve feet of invisible shadow beneath their frozen cloud. Semille could see it all, from the dubious safety of nearby cover; while Milotic drew in the weaponized breath, it thickened with a brilliant whiteness... And through the raw elemental power, breezes returned, now bearing a frozen bite. The vengeful siren's head moved steadily, tilting up for the mass his lungs were taking on; meanwhile, Eighty's long tail flicked swiftly back and forth, a mixed sign of focus, frustration and steadfast bravery. The latter, being absolute necessity, if he was to stand his ground; it would take a Slowpoke, not to know what he was in for.

If it was fate, then why do anything but face it head-on... Such were the Nido's thoughts, high on foresight and the rising adrenaline. Smirking ear-to-ear, goatee wisping in the bitter wind, he showed no aversion to the worthy contender. "After you, dandy."

There was barely time for Semille's scream of "WATCH OUT!!" to register, with any of them. Milotic's gaze came back into view, locking onto his landlubbing foe; and the air itself seemed to thicken as he loosed the frozen blast. Though holding fast to his battler-focus, in the back of his mind he marvelled at what was easily the largest, widest Ice Beam he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing.

The shock of its span, was nearly enough to delay his reflex; but muscle-memory didn't fail, and his knees buckled to roll him sidewise, an instant before the frigid beam would have met his temple. Naturally, it continued past; and the trajectory brought it to impact the base of a tree, four feet from the fox's position. He first cringed, but when the initial jolt waned, he was left scratching his chin at the uniform mass of ice that wrapped the lower trunk. It was only confusing, until he realized the implication; whatever it hit, became prisoner of a solid block of ice. Eyes widening, he practically ran to the edge of cover, peering out with more concern than ever before. All that kept him from screaming out for his lover to stop, and run, was the knowledge that he'd only be a distraction; not to mention that escaping from such a mammoth legend, wasn't high on the list of 'possibilities'.

Milotic, realizing his first attack had failed, didn't seem too surprised. Clearly underwhelmed, he quickly dove down and out of the water, refreshing his aquatic skin. "I'm impressed, ruffian. So many couldn't make it past the first volley."

Eighty, quick to reassume his brawler-stance, didn't realize his eyebrow's lifting; but knew of the puzzlement causing it. "So... If I'm not the first to stare you down, in this condition, then where-"

"Beneath me." The seabeast's reply was positively gleeful, while its far-end popped up from behind. "This long blue tail holds a trio of uses; swimming rudder, natural shiv, and the perfect tool for dragging bodies down through the murky blue." The mirth in his tones, told of how he relished the fury spreading to his enemy's gaze. "No need for disconsolance; at least you won't be lonesome down there. Plenty of your brethren, lures and all."

Semille, catching all of this, could no longer help himself, and sprinted out from the forest's edge to throw his arms around the livid Nido... Who gave a firm, brief jump at the unannounced embrace.

"C'mon, let's get out of here! " Lithe fox limbs tugged at his man through the shivers, trying to pull towards the bush. "It's not worth it, I don't want to see you in an icy coffin, at the bottom of a lake-"

Despite his compassion, one arm shot out to practically shove the fox back, bringing him to fall on the sand. Bewildered, Semille stared helplessly at his mate, who returned a hostile glare. "Get back to the trees, and don't be splitting my attention, or we'll both be lyin' stiff in a watery tomb. Understand?"

It was something the fox couldn't accept, driven by fearful sympathy. "NO, honey, we need to run, you can't stand up to this kind of power-"

"-How would you know?" Eighty's frustration stepped up. "You've been lucky enough to never see me fight. But you didn't fall in love with a weakling, and you know that much. Is it beyond you to trust me?"

Two seconds, and the gravity of his words sank in. With a quick glance to the Milotic - and his shrinking patience - the answer came doe-eyed. "I have faith in you. Just... Please, if he knows what a rudder and shiv are, he's clearly more shrewd than we thought. Please be careful."

Eighty's hostile gaze refocused on the seabound serpent; but not before flashing his mate a tiny smile, and a twinkle of deeper affection. "I ain't one to be otherwise. Now watch yourself, I like havin' something to fight for."

Semille, scrambling to his feet and towards the prior cover, looked back just long enough to swell with pride for his violet knight.

A pair of purple hands went up, in vaguely kung-fu pose; more for self-amusement than anything. "Appreciate your waiting, freak-o'-nature. It's almost like you understand the value of love... Or is that what you think you feel, for your scale-covered, dumb-as-shit kids?" His eyes narrowed playfully, looking forward to the reaction he'd cull.

Cream-coloured facial hide, flushed as red as the giant brow-fins. "Just come at me with all you can," He spat, "So I may have the pleasure of snatching your life from the very breeze before me."

"Whatever you want, pretty boy. Pleasure's all mine."

Pats of sand scattered from behind purple feet, a symptom of his newfound running. Four feet separated the seabeast from sandy shore; a spread within easy leaping distance. Locked in his fierce approach - and much enjoying the blood-tint anticipation - he could almost chuckle at the glint of fear, that flashed through Milotic's gaze. Semille was nearly right; shrewd, perhaps, but clearly underrating of his opposition. Five yards distant from the mammoth siren... Four... Three and closing in, with regal claws high and at the ready. Through the serpent's eye, there was no denying his foe meant the same degree of force; indelibly fatal.

With a stern glare, his long, supple neck swayed to the right, just before Eighty would have jumped.

The rugged Nido rapidly corrected, vaulting straight for where the beast had deviated.

Booming splashes, while the cream-and-red form rocketed under.

A second, smaller splash, as Eighty's form quickly sank below. Semille's shaken scream, wavering for the endless shivers from Milotic's glacial influence.

Several moments of abject silence; agony to the fox, frantic over his view of the indistinct ripples.

An instant of visible shapes, before the surface tension's rapid break; once a roaring splash ensued, what he saw was far worse than a vague submergion. Long, aquatic body wrapped into a single coil, holding its foe at calf-level. Growling in rampant fury, the Nidoking gripped his enemy's hide, using all force to attempt squeezing loose. But in vain; while Milotic's crown steadied at his adversary's level, obviously gloating, Eighty quickly realized just how high a percentage of this waterbound mammoth was purely muscle.

The advantaged beast broke silence, with trails of water from the hostile pair sounding over his words. "May as well relax, murderer... I don't see an escape in your future. Perhaps, if you admit the mortal sins against my kind - and martyr yourself for the others - your end could be quick and merciful. Though it's no guarantee."

The fuzz-cloaked Nidoking took his advice... For a moment, and an alternate cause. It took liberal verve to hide the joy of his plot, behind a stone face. "Like grandpappy said, believe nothing you hear..." One set of claws lifted from the giant seasnake, with the index finger stiffening. "... And only half of what you see." Straightaway, the same finger and its natural blade plunged deep into the slimy skin.

Two fox hands shot up over the ears of their owner, as the air itself seemed to rattle from a legend's distressing screams. Eighty's rigid claw dug heartily beneath the moist hide like a demented dentist's needle, turning and swaying to rip through the layers of flesh. Milotic's upper neck contorted in unspeakable pain, until at last the sensation's cause pulled rapidly out. With watery pupils dilated, Milotic stared in disbelief at the Nido's method, hardly aware of what transpired...

.... Until his agonied grimace centered on just what area his enemy compromised, and the crimson flow dribbling from the tip of Eighty's digits.

This, while the regal male gave a leer of unadulterated victory. "Somethin' else I learned from him; there's nothin' more important than resourcefulness. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't all living things with a pancreas need it to survive? And in a state of non-laceration?"

The myth-immortalized beast felt a sickening weight in his slender gut; reminded of his actual mortality. Keen on just how hopeless it had instantly become, his grip released from the virile rival, sliding him down to the chilly waves. Through the following moments - while Eighty swam for the sand, no longer in any big hurry - his conscious was only pain, regret, and the crippling feel of fruitless gasps.

Reaching shore, with Semille just now shedding his dumbfounded shock to stagger up, the able fighter looked over his imminent kill. "You had every chance to talk this out... You didn't want it. Only thing I'm sorry for, is that you will have all those innocent bodies down there, keepin' you company."

He felt the warm embrace of his mate once more, this time with fear switched for joyful affection... And a share of disgust, taking in the same view of a twitching, wheezing serpent that slowly bled itself out.

Milotic, only too aware of the four eyes and their focus, shot as much defiance as condition would allow, browfins twisted in grimacing torment. The pair knew they were privy to his last words, even before he could gasp them forth. "I won't... Let you watch me... lll-ike this, failure is punishment enough. You're the rightful victor, and I pay the price for... My recklessness." Slowly, laboring for every motion, his form made the disgraced turn. From behind his features, Eighty and Semille could still catch his head bitterly lowering to the side. "I beg of you, children, forgive me. They've won... For a single, capable man of their endless ranks... They've won."

Running short of breath, the sleek serpent made steadily his final, doomed descent to the chilly depths. Feeling some type of guilt for watching the macabre departure, Eighty's arm wrapped its burly span over his fox's shoulders, while the latter slowly stroked his upper chest.

In this they remained, until Semille spoke what weighed on the both of them. "He really believed he was their only hope... And he goes to his grave with that certainty."

Eighty could only nod, feeling the birth of a lump in his throat, while shedding the surplus of lake moisture. Through his prominent silence, a thought occured to the pair's other half.

"... Wait, just how did you know to-"

"-Aquatic Biology 201... Kanto U." The 'King did his best to conceal a vocal quiver. "Funny, what you recall in the right moment."

Cutting eyes at his vulpine mate, he knew straightaway his attempt was in vain, with Semille's pompous grin as proof.

"You're tearing up, aren't you?" Eighty's arm was grabbed by the suddenly-playful fox. "Such a strong, manly fighter, you are."

Eyes rolled in return, while a regal spirit slowly recovered. "I don't apologize for havin' a heart. But it's not all that has me, right now." A short pause, evinced of a sigh. "Like I said, you've never had to see me fight. But when I do, it's meant to be enjoyed. First good scrap I have in a long while, and I can't even feel good about it."

Gazing up at his Kingly male, and what he dwelled on, took the edge off a fox's rebounding snark. He folded both hands around a healthy bread-basket, the favour was quickly mirrored, and half-a-minute saw them wrapped in romantic embrace; enriched by lapping waves and the soft cry of a passing Wingull.

They ended with a brief, warm, mutual gaze, before the lithe fox strayed focus to their implements. "Would you hate me, if I asked to grab the cooler and junk, and head home? I'm starting to feel a bit... Cozy."

There was no attempt on Eighty's part, to hide his knowing smirk. "Why even ask somethin' like that, when you know we're on the same wavelength."

Non-eagerly breaking their cuddle, his face strayed from the fox's view, just long enough to snatch their load of equipment, in smug and swooping arcs. Simultane, the air had been shifting to its original warmth... And to them, it almost seemed fresher. With purple arms loaded down, sauntering back towards the fox, he shot his well-smitten mate an affectionate grin... Reaching his side, they strolled away together, shadows dwarfed by the light of high-noon.

"I just wonder..." Semille began, tightly clutching his man's bicep, "How many lives you might have saved, today."

Eighty set into a lazy chuckle. "Dunno, and I'd just as soon forget it. Far as I'm concerned, it's all in the past, especially if it means more chicken for supper-"

He cut off by the rapid, firm tightening of Semille's grip... Glancing over, to see the fox's free hand pointing across the lake, he followed its cue.

On the same distant shore, sat the two figures from earlier... Only this time, Stantler and his feral foe made no combat, but stood facing the water... Quite clearly reciprocating their gaze. Realizing they themselves had an audience, both Eighty and his partner tried to brainstorm an icebreaking phrase... But in even, dignified tones carried over the deep blue, Stantler beat them to it.

"Strangers, bear my gratitude... We no longer fight, over who takes the deadly risk for food. Our bane of being is finished."

The pair watched in surprise, as a duo of dissimilar deer waded through the shallows, together, dipping heads to snap at what could only be passing trout. Breaking their stupefied stare, they locked gaze with one another... Semille taking on a prideful mien, with the breeze sculpting his fur.

"Suppose I should thank Mother Nature, for proving my point."

Eighty, smiling his widest, leaned forward to touch snout with fox nose. "Not before I thank her, for sendin' you to me."

The undying wash of lake-water, slowly took their departing footprints.