Sun Mote Copse Gunfinger (salute).

as of late, otter could oft be found by the creek. near narwhal's respite, a bed of large stones and shallow water made for an easy crossing — but she had other ideas. she'd been spending the past ten minutes skipping from stone to stone, a good ol' fashioned game of "floor is lava". her giggles likely could've been heard (or felt, rather) by her grandmother through the treeline.
when she sees the approaching familiar face, she stops in her tracks, nearly mid-leap. her forefeet slip off of their slimy perch into the shallow, and she lets out a loud whoop of surprise as she whips her head around.
oh, hi nana, she blinks, lips bashfully curling into a welcoming smile. what's up?