Sun Mote Copse there are otters in his eyes

Something blocked what little vision he possessed. Skipjack kicked out a paw, his toes pushing at his mother’s lip as the familiar pressure of her mouth closed over him. He was soon tucked closer to her again, right side up, beside Otter. She’d latched onto one of their mother’s teats, though he was too much of a busybody to eat right now.

He pressed his face right up to Otter’s as she nursed, admiring the blur of her brown cheek. His nose pressed against it, his tongue darting out to place a sweet little kiss there. His forelegs stretched toward her, batting gently at her head and shoulders before he settled into kneading her little rolls of puppy fat.