It wasn't as grimy or murky as he preferred, but water was water and Typhoid could flourish in any variety as far as he was concerned. Beneath the river's rather clear surface he swam, snapping up little fish here and there, nosing aside rocks to search for more prey or anything even remotely interesting. Nothing caught his eye no matter how hard he might look, and each time he would shove off with a deeper scowl upon is young face.
His head poked up from the water into the relatively warm air of a winter's day, droplets flattening his short mane to his neck and making his coat glisten in the lazy sunlight. Sickly eyes darted to and fro, searching the banks for larger snacks. A rat or two, hardly a sight to consider with how his father's little minions follow him so. No large game cared to take a sip from the river, nothing especially good for a good prank or hunt.
How boring...
Again the colt dove beneath the water, tail propelling him forward. The echoing of rapids up ahead perked his interest at least, muscles working harder and harder to push him against the current. Perhaps he could see if he could entice the rats over the rocks on the rapids, see if they slip and drown...
It'd be more fun than chomping on fish and flipping over stones, at least.
