Squelching hooves sink into the banks of a pond, or what was left of it. This dry summer had really taken its toll on this area. Dirty brown water plays home to many crowded, dying fish. They fight and wriggle together in the stinking, rotting, oxygen depleted puddle. Memories of clear cool drink teaming with life and beautiful water lilies return briefly as eyes roam over the dying pool. Everything is coated in brown slime. Everything.
A small crud crusted caiman slips from dry water plants towards the jostling trapped fish. At least she will prosper in this hole of death. Even in the gloom and murky filth, there is life. Stepping heavily, pulling dirty feet out of the noisy ground, a final sight stands out from the rest. It lies on the bank, in what used to be deep water, splattered almost completely from the commotion of the scaled prey save for a single fleck of dark green. The opportunistic reptile is not the only thing still alive in the hopeless pond; A single lilypad in mud lives on.