Otter Creek a raft of otters

@Stark Haelvyr

¿Qué son? Needle’s voice was filled with astonishment. Those swimming brown creatures were so strange! They were like bizarrely thin foxes with pushed in noses and tails that appeared to be more muscle than fluff. They swam so quickly, too! None of them quite moved like any prey she knew. In her amazement, she’d almost forgotten to ask in the common tongue.

What are those things?

Wide eyes turned to her companion, Stark, who had led them to the creek. It was early yet, and the clouds were silently building up for a light snowfall. A crisp breeze washed over them, rolling over the open area like a gentle tide.

Stark’s gaze lingered on the water, watching the creatures move with an efficiency that almost demanded respect. His fur ruffled slightly as the morning breeze swept over him, yet he remained still, as if rooted to the earth. When Needle’s wide-eyed question reached his ears, he did not turn immediately. Instead, he let a moment pass, his thoughts churning like the slow current before them.

“They are otters,” he said finally, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of someone who spoke not just to answer but to be heard. “River-dwellers, quick and cunning. They are not prey worth chasing—more trouble than gain.”

His gaze shifted to Needle then, and though his expression remained composed, there was a faint flicker of something else, something guarded. He could see her amazement, untempered and genuine. She was young enough to marvel at such things, and for a moment, he envied her for it. Wonder was not something he allowed himself.

“They live as they must,” he continued, the tone of his voice lowering slightly. “Not strong, not particularly dangerous, yet they endure.”

For a moment, he considered saying more, but instead, he turned his focus back to the water, his expression hardening once again. Needle, he was sure, had had enough of his lessons for the next season.

There was no place for softness in him—not anymore. And yet, watching Needle’s curiosity, he wondered if he might have once been like her. If he could have ever been something other than what he was now.

Otters.

It was a shame Stark thought they weren’t worth hunting. She trusted his opinion implicitly, yet this did not stifle the rush of her thoughts as she still wondered what it would be like to capture one of those slick-looking beasts between her teeth and drag them from the water. Would they squirm like earthworms or flop like fish? How strong were they? Could they run as fast as they swam? Needle was always keen to give chase, but she imagined lunging through the frigid creek would be entirely unpleasant.

When she looked to her guardian, he was brooding once more. He would often fall into these bouts of stoicism. Usually, she just left him to his thoughts, however, this was one of those rare occasions she wasn’t in the mood for a stare-off-into-the-distance contemplative silence.

Otter got your tongue? She flicked him with her tail. Usually you’d be explaining by now the best way to catch one if I needed to, and how many claws and teeth they have, and if I have to worry about their family coming after me once I’ve killed one.