Otter Creek I’m a wandering soul, Traveling a well worn road

While Raindrop bathed in the river with otter compatriots, Anselm languished in the sun. 

He’d dragged himself to the sound of running water — but his body, crossed with merlot cuts of scything claws, had given out well before he reached the bank. 

Delirium from bloodloss seized him. With a groan, Anselm lost consciousness.