Spring came early breaking winters icy grip on the land. Dangling icicles that had adorned the branches of the old willow tree that stood beside his favourite pool now dripped steadily. Drip, drop, drip, the rhythm constant and soothing. The last sprinkling of winter snow fought valiantly, clinging to the sword shaped leaves of early blooming snowdrops, but its battle was doomed to defeat as it melted under the soft golden suns caress.
Gondell turned his face toward the hazy sun and sighed, a sound of deep contentment, the land around him appeared to sigh in concurrence with his happiness, rebirth and renewal could now begin, and optimism bloomed in his heart. The long dark dreary days of dried provisions and preserves were now behind. A good job too, he smiled as he pictured his diminished larders, dried fish is good, rabbit and venison are also very passable when naught better is on offer... but now spring is finally here!
On the calm river a solid raft of ice floated slowly by and Gondell smiled, the thaw is here at last, so now to business. He took a final glance at the sun and tested the breeze, just a quick sniff and a taste, from the south, just the first promise of warmth... and wood smoke, he sniffed again. A cooking fire for sure... and do I detect something wonderful roasting? He began to salivate as his stomach growled, not that he was particularly hungry, he had dined well on a rich and herby stewed hare with lumps of fresh crusty bread torn from the still warm loaf. His hunger arose from the tantalising aroma wafting past him on the breeze. Fresh fish, he chuckled, and without further ado he disappeared back into his tunnel and plunged into the submerged passage that led into his subterranean home.
The thaw has come in perfect time, he thought as he stepped from the water and grabbed a towel from a row of hooks attached to the tunnel wall, some towels were hanging specifically for guests, but the fluffiest and finest were always reserved exclusively for himself.
Perfect time indeed, he observed, his stock of fresh fish being not simply low, his flooded larder was bare, and had been for quite some time, not one silver flash of fin and scales had dashed away as he swam through. Time for something fresh, he decided as he busily hunted through his tackle cupboards, sorting poles and lines, hooks and floats, determined to take advantage of the first decent fishing day in months.