Otter Creek On the colorful flowers grown upon the dust and moss

@Koda

As daybreak sprung over the flatlands the world was rocked into a gentle sweep of amber. Birds chirped overhead and the soft hush of trees whispered in the wind. Spring was inevitable and the creek was alive with new and brimming life. And then there was Pallas, hunkered down in the marsh to take advantage of it.

She had found a new scent, this time of otter -- and in the early morning fog had spotted them frolicking in the water. Their tails kicked up little ripples and white-water froth seemed to foam where they played. They were too far out for her to dream of catching, so instead she watched them with hunger threading her gaze.