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.

Stark’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turned his gaze to Needle, a flicker of amusement lighting the sharp gold of his eye. He watched the creek, the sleek creatures darting in and out of the water with an elegance that almost seemed deliberate. “I can’t imagine needing to explain the intricacies of their revenge plots. But, I'll be sure to let you know if I sense an uprising brewing.” He said through a mouthful of teeth, giving the girl a taunting grin.

Instead of returning to his usual brooding, Stark turned fully toward Needle, his gaze sharp but curious. “But tell me,” he said, an almost playful edge to his tone now, “if I’ve failed to instruct you, what would you do? I won't always be around to guide you.” He sniffed indifferently.

He stepped closer to her then, lowering his voice slightly as though sharing some great secret. “They’d have the advantage, you know. You’d look quite the fool, floundering in the cold while they outpace you with ease. I’d be forced to stand here and watch.”

His smirk deepened as he straightened, clearly enjoying this moment more than he let on. “So, gosling, what’s the verdict? Shall I prepare myself to rescue you when the mighty otters overwhelm you?”

should i pretend his name was "Drakaryn" the whole time? :>

A smile! Small, barely perceptible, but there nonetheless.

Needle felt quite smug about it. The princeking emoted so little aside from a constant mild displeasure, let alone smiled. It was like a reward to see one and know that she was cause. His grin deepened as he jested, one side of his mouth curving more than the other in a wry smirk. She was endeared to this expression the most, feeling warm to her toes at the sight.

In that moment, she felt she could take on a thousand otters, no matter what he said about them. As prompted, she wondered what she would do if she didn’t know anything about the aquatic mustelids.

They don’t look so tough, she proclaimed, puffing out her chest. Their tails are long. I bet I could snag one pretty quick. The waif didn’t want to think about Stark not being there to guide her, so she ignored the statement entirely.

He went on to say she would be at a disadvantage, to which her chest deflated somewhat. The last thing she wanted was to look like a fool in front of Stark. (After all, she had started grooming herself lately, slowly plucking all the burrs from her quicksilver pelt, quietly trying to draw an approving look from him.)

Cazador continued to tease her. Well, when you put it like that… she muttered, ears falling flat briefly. Fine. I won’t force you to rescue me today, but one day, I’ll show you how to catch an otter, Tuerto. Since you’re obviously terrified of them. She smirked right back and gave him a playful nip at his broad shoulder before scampering off, continuing their southeast trajectory.

The brisk air felt nice as her wiry muscles churned.

yes please! we made a lil last minute change :3

He snorted faintly, more amused than annoyed, and shook his broad shoulders as if to brush off the nip she’d dared to give. “Terrified of otters,” he muttered to himself, the corner of his mouth still curved into that rare smirk. “Your insolence shall be your doom, gosling.”

Still, he couldn’t deny the faint warmth that crept into his chest as he watched her dart ahead, full of energy and confidence despite her earlier deflation. There was something endearing about the way she carried herself—scrappy, stubborn, but never dull. Her presence was a spark against the cold edges of his mind, a distraction he hadn’t realized he needed.

He hated to admit that he might just be warming up to Needle.

Hated to admit that he enjoyed having her around.

He began to follow at a measured pace, his longer strides catching up to her easily. As she bounded ahead, he called out after her. “One day, is it? Perhaps I’ll prepare a feast to honor your unparalleled skill as an otter-slayer,” he said dryly. “But you would do well to make good on that promise, Needle. I won’t suffer empty boasts.”

Better start planning that feast then, Needle quipped, grinning. And you can enjoy eating your words while I dine. Her tail waved like a banner, tall and proud – unyielding as long as Stark was at her side.

Days and nights together had only seen her appreciation for him grow; she felt safer than she had in moons, and his hardwired severity made a good match for her temerity. She would’ve walked all over a lesser wolf.

But, doubts still lingered.

Needle wondered often what he thought of her. If she was too much, or worse, not enough. She worried that he would drop her at the slightest inconvenience – that she would be left on her own again should she disappointed him. She tried desperately to ignore the growing shadows in her heart.

Stark? Her expression turned thoughtful. Why did you leave your home? The question was sudden, as it stemmed from a thought about the wolves he knew in his past, and whether any of them felt as she did about him. Was it because of your sister?

He’d mentioned a sister, and how he’d had to claw for every inch while she was given miles.

Was it because you wouldn’t rule as long as she was there?

Stark’s stride faltered, just for a moment, at Needle’s question. His golden eye narrowed slightly as his mind turned over the words, picking at them like loose threads in a tapestry. The memories she invoked were blurred, fragmented, as if his mind had locked away the answers she sought behind a door he couldn’t open.

“I did not leave my home,” he said at last, his tone sharp, as though the very idea offended him. “I was… displaced.” The word fell from his tongue awkwardly, foreign to him. Stark was a wolf of control, of precision. He did not simply leave. Yet the exact details, the how and the why, slipped from his grasp like sand through his claws.

His pace slowed further, and for once, his gaze didn’t meet hers. It lingered instead on the ground ahead, searching for something he could not name. “I remember Evenspire,” he continued after a long silence. “My family. My sister. I remember clawing for every inch of respect while she was given it freely. And yet…” His voice trailed off, a flicker of frustration passing across his features.

“I don’t recall why I’m here. Why I was removed. Or if it was by my own choice.” His tail flicked sharply, betraying the simmering anger at his own limitations. “As for ruling—” He turned his eye to her then, the edge returning to his voice. “That was always my right. My sister may have held the throne, but Evenspire needed me just as much as her, if not more. She was strength, yes, but I was the blade. A throne cannot stand on wisdom alone.”