Claiming the River

I squeezed beneath the loose timber fence and stalked down to the asphalt edge. A swift stream of runoff was hissing along the concrete gutter, carving out a shallow river. Grrr... moving water at last. I lunged into the current with a sharp splash, talons locking into the wet grit. A bloated yellow leaf tumbled downstream, darting across the stones like fleeing prey. My jaws snapped shut across its soggy spine before it could drift past. Bitter pulp, cold water, no scales. I pinned the shredded leaf flat against the concrete curb, flared my dorsal spines into the light, and let out a guttural snarl. This channel is under my rule.