"C'mon... bite ya little bastards..."

Arthur had begun his fishing trip early that morning, just before the sun started to rise. The man had trekked a little ways down the river, not too far from camp but far enough so that the morning commotion wouldn't scare off the fish. Fish. Saying it like the river was full of the things. In reality, he'd been sitting on his ass for 3 hours and only managed to snag four fish, one of which he threw back because it had been far too small to even bother with. He missed the warmer climates he was used to. At least up North fish were far more plentiful- easy pickings for anyone, albeit small. With a huff, the stag tested his line gently, feeling for any hint of a bite before coming up empty-hooved. He left it alone and settled back, staring out at the still-pink morning sky with a tiniest hint of a smile. The cold may have been a bitch on him, but he couldn't deny the beautiful scenery they were lucky to have. He'dve loved to draw it if he hadn't already drawn it several times in his journal. Of course there was nothing holding him back aside from wanting to save page space for future notes. So he settled for just watching.

Arthur should count his lucky stars he hadn't been completely focused, as only after a half hour, the line next to him lurched, nearly uprooting the stick it was tied to and leaving the man out another fishing pole. With a jolt, he lunged forward and grasped the stick between his jaws, pulling back against whatever was struggling on the other end. It was big, that was for damn sure. Arthur's heartbeat raced as he took things slow; a constant back and forth of keeping the struggling fish on the line and reeling it slowly in once it got tired. But waiting paid off and soon enough, the stag was dragging a decently sized trout to shore, a glitter of pride in his dark eyes.