The surface of the lake rippled with the soft disturbance of movement just beneath. A dark silhouette glided effortlessly through the water, limbs stretching and flexing in perfect sync. Donatello swam low, his flattened body slicing through the current with quiet precision. His nostrils flared slightly as he surfaced, drawing in a cautious breath before slipping back beneath the murky green.

A soft churr rumbled from his throat as he paused beside a submerged log, his snout brushing over its rough bark. He nudged at it, claws flexing, alert for the scent of anything familiar… or foreign. The lake was his domain. Calm, secluded, warm—everything his mind craved.

When he felt safe, he floated again. Legs spread, tail swaying gently beneath him, neck stretching toward the surface. His dark eyes watched the ripples play in the shallows. There was no urgency here, no threat. Only the cool press of water and the silent pulse of his own breathing.

This was where he belonged. Hidden, hunting, waiting.