Creek's Reflective Pool

Creek was liquid elegance. He could remain motionless for so long that visitors would ask if he was real. Then, a flick of his tongue or a slight turn of his head would betray his alive, watchful nature. His pool was his kingdom; he kept it impeccably clean. When he shed, he would rub against underwater rocks, leaving translucent skins floating like ghosts. Handling him felt privileged—he was calm but always alert, his grip strong and sure. The filter still runs, but the water is too clear, missing the graceful form that once broke its surface and lived in its depths.