Otter Creek Otter spotter

Winter had its charms, mostly in the form of weakened prey - where prey could be found, at least – and Nisus had to hope that, soon, he would find some. He was no stick figure of a man but months spent wandering had taken their toll. The sheen on his pelt was gone, leaving it flat where once there had been volume to excuse the overall fineness of it. His features were a little more pinched where once they’d been broad and noble.

Nisus wasn’t built for the coldest season. He had known that from the off, but it hadn’t been reason enough to stop him from striking out on his own. Well, striking out wasn’t entirely accurate; striking out implied a choice had been made. Another thing the male was keenly aware of was that he’d had no choice but to live this lonely life.

Still, he managed to pluck the shreds of good from all the negative. Maybe it was that stubborn optimism which had kept him going all this way. He told himself that stubbornness was more a way of life than anything he’d left behind.

The alders did their best to shroud the creek until Nisus was nearly upon it. Weaving through the trunks, the chocolate male spied water and almost rushed forward to greet it – almost. A bright, whiskery face at the water’s edge was enough to make him pause, tail stiffening in uncertainty. Nisus had never known an otter attack a wolf – but the otters he’d encountered had been many miles and moons away.

His ears flicked back as the rest of him moved forward.