It is a warm and sunny morning. The smell of water fills your nostrils as you sunbathe on your favorite rock, allowing the beams of light to heat your flesh and blood, chasing away the lingering chill of night. Languidly, you shift your neck a little, tilting your head ever so slightly to one side.
One of your eyes, you keep cracked open, on the lookout for potential prey as you sun. Your body, mottled green with a coat of algae, is in excess of two-and-half feet long, and your weight is nearly two hundred pounds. Not that you reckon by human measurements, of course, but you are undeniably a formidable representative of your species, and deceptively cunning from several decades' worth of experience in hunting and surviving.
Idly, you scan the tree branches overhanging your creek, aged eyes peering through sun-dappled foliage for some sign of such movement as would be indicative of your favorite prey.
For a moment, you fancy that you espy a flash of flaxen yellow, and pale creamy peach following a minutest quivering of leaves in one of the lower branches. But you wait, and when, after a minute or so of careful observation, you see no further signs of movement, you decide that it was likely nothing, and roll your gaze elsewhere.
You are a rather intimidating specimen of Macrochelys temminckii, to be sure, with the spiky plates of your heavy shell, and the primitive, almost ceratopsian shape of your skull. You blend in well, in the still areas behind the various rocks scattered throughout the babbling, running waters of your home. Long years of life have gathered no small degree of moss and algae on the bony eschuteons of your shell, and rough, pebbled hide of your legs and cranium.
Indeed, when lying in wait beneath the water, the only thing that could betray your presence would be the spark of light catching from your eyes. Even atop the rock on which you were currently sunning, you could blend in well enough to catch an unwary faerie in your sharp, crushing jaws.
And that is indeed what you are hoping for, as you sit there upon your rock. Though fish may be more filling, there is something to be said for the cold, reptilian glee you feel at the terror of a faerie caught in your grasp. There is something rewarding, about catching one of those soft, yet inquisitive creatures in your jaws, feeling them struggle in their last moments of life before you snap your mouth closed, snapping and shearing through their delicate bones and soft flesh.
But it is difficult to capture faeries outside of ambush, and your preferred method is little use above water. So it is difficult... for turtles other than yourself. But you, oh, you have developed a... special... bait for faeries.
You would have grinned, were you capable of it, as you slowly, stealthily let your tongue loll out of your mouth. It was long and fleshy, save for the end, which was rough and hardened like a pearl, with an enticing sheen that could easily draw in the inquisitive fae.
You lie in wait, bathing your camouflaged body in the sun.
Do any faeries show up?
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