Otter Creek Speak softly

The young otter seemed to be making a fool of Beric, but the male wolf was not the type to kill when it wasn't for food or for life. It was just playing anyways, and not harming anything. Except Beric's pride, maybe. The female trotted over and Beric sat back on his haunches. My name is Beric, from Wheeling Gull Isle. I came for a rest, but... Well, he won't let me, he said, motioning to the creature rolling over between his forelegs.

He knew what a comical scene they were making, and that this was usual. It wasn't like he sought out fauna to play with. It just hadn't learned what enemies it should steer clear of, and he wasn't in the mood to teach any lessons.