Otter Creek regenwasser

There was a commotion on the opposite embankment: a great deal of splashing and a cacophony of cries from the namesakes of this creek. A small troupe of otters were scattered in all directions, and the immature yearlings were the only ones not wise enough to aim for their dens at the beset of a slavering wolf.

Goodnight had never seen this kind of aquatic mustelid before, but knew that if they tasted anything like beaver, he didn't want to miss out on the chance to snag one. They were unfortunately quicker than he anticipated, but the creekbed was shallow enough for him keep pace with a pair who, in their erratic fleeing downstream, could not dodge him.

One of the two suddenly pivoted, turning upstream in an effort to shake Goodnight's pursuit. The wolf changed direction on the slushy shore just as sharply, and leaped into the chilly waters with paws outstretched. He felt the creature's thick tail slide from between his claws as he dove to pin it down, and he could only watch, half-stumbling, as the otter launched itself wildly towards the other side of the brook — fleeing blindly towards a dark figure.