Otter Creek a raft of otters

Stark’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turned his gaze to Needle, a flicker of amusement lighting the sharp gold of his eye. He watched the creek, the sleek creatures darting in and out of the water with an elegance that almost seemed deliberate. “I can’t imagine needing to explain the intricacies of their revenge plots. But, I'll be sure to let you know if I sense an uprising brewing.” He said through a mouthful of teeth, giving the girl a taunting grin.

Instead of returning to his usual brooding, Stark turned fully toward Needle, his gaze sharp but curious. “But tell me,” he said, an almost playful edge to his tone now, “if I’ve failed to instruct you, what would you do? I won't always be around to guide you.” He sniffed indifferently.

He stepped closer to her then, lowering his voice slightly as though sharing some great secret. “They’d have the advantage, you know. You’d look quite the fool, floundering in the cold while they outpace you with ease. I’d be forced to stand here and watch.”

His smirk deepened as he straightened, clearly enjoying this moment more than he let on. “So, gosling, what’s the verdict? Shall I prepare myself to rescue you when the mighty otters overwhelm you?”