Redtail Rise Yeah, he's trading in his Chevy for a Cadillac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac

Her encouragement was all he needed. The silver of his tailtip disappeared as he crawled into the unknown.

He crept and crept until he could see the beaver. It idled, preoccupied with something held in its small paws.

He could only get so close without being detected. Like a waiting viper, he rushed forth and struck with a sudden violence.

All that could be heard was his gurgling growl and aggravated thrashing, broken by squeals from the beaver. Eventually, it grew eerily quiet. Minutes passed.

Finally, he emerged from the brambles the same place he had gone in. A flash of silver once more, the boy exited rump-first, dragging along his prize. His chest was slick with blood—though only a tad was truly his. Numerous thorns littered the black of his pelt. 

Panting, he sat. His discomfort was minimized by the glow of victory.