"Maker's Balls, Shartan!" Cormac growled, wondering what had gotten into the hound. "Are you trying to scare off all the fish?" Craning his neck he tried to see what had the Mabari so worked up, and saw Shartan come to a skidding halt just short of Falina's small frame. Sighing, Cormac resigned himself to not getting much fishing done at all. He was a bit irritated at the loss of this rare opportunity, but didn't have the heart to take it out on the girl. She had been down lately, quieter than usual, and if pressed Cormac had to admit he was a bit concerned about the normally outspoken youth.
"Fetch?" He echoed in confusion, before the dwarf's meaning sank in. "Oh, this? No Lina, it's not a stick for Shartan...it's a fishing rod." He smothered the grin that threatened to surface at her mistaken assumption.
With a mournful glance at the glint of scales just visible through the clear depths, he turned towards the girl, not entirely successful at keeping the resentment from his voice. "What are you doing here? Is camp finished setting up for the night?"