From The Wood Nymph Monologues

It had been some time since she'd visited the forests. Despite the cold of early spring, Helen decided to wade into the stream. She saw that which startled her beyond any pretense of aloofness she might think to render. She tittered and froze, mid-step. Below, in the shallows, a monstrous trout, perhaps a steelhead, a large rainbow of the migratory variety, lay waiting for anything that might present an acceptable repast when a minnow exited its covert to wend its way farther upstream where, perhaps in the course of the afternoon, it might encounter others of its ilk and being as social as most schoolies, communicate in a fish-like manner. Flumoxed by the flash of silver knifing through the waters, Helen lost her focus and her balance and, endeavoring to steady herself and stay a fall—an event that could have proved terribly painful—disabled the minnow, crushing it between the ball of her foot and a granite boulder, rounded and smoothed by the flow of waters. The limp fish floated to the surface like a leaf defying gravity. Up shot the steelhead and gulped the freshly slain minnow before Helen could scoop it from the purling waters to resuscitate the fry.