Otter Creek among the chestnut trees of Mamre

He watched her impassively, the smell and taste of otter blood distracting his brain from doing too much of anything other than just stand there. He paused, waiting only briefly for her disorientation to fade, and kept hawkish eyes on her face as he gauged her expression for pain. He noticed her dry mouth by the way her lips peeled apart too slowly, and with a deep grunt, he angled his body towards the creek and took her meal that way.

A few feet from the bank, he deposited the otter meant for the injured sylph, and backed away several feet himself. Reclining on his haunches, he watched for her to come down; his body held loosely at attention. He would see that she could eat, and would be on his way.