Vermin? You sure?
~~~
Chapter Two
As soon as the otter left, the marked weasel turned to the scruffy one for his opinion.
"What do you make of them, Scirf?"
"Well," the weasel thought for a moment. "I don't think that 'es from 'round here; 'e had a different accent than most otters. And those terms he used, squire. . . anybeast, and vermin." The weasel puffed up his chest. "We're respectable mustelids! I don't quite know what t'make of 'im, squire. And that mouse - I could've sworn it was walkin' on its hind legs. Strange."
The marked weasel nodded and asked the nervous-looking weasel, "Mawk, what do you think of him?"
The weasel in question shifted from footpaw to footpaw. "I dunno, Sylver. All I know is that I think he very well could have killed us, judging by the expression on his face. . . but he didn't. I dunno why."
Sylver nodded again and spoke to the last weasel, a female. "Alysoun, I want you to follow that otter, best you can. I want to know what he's doing here. We'll head back to camp to get the others. . . try to leave a trail for us to follow. Oh, and don't let yourself be seen!"
"Aye, aye, Sylver!" With a cheeky grin, Alysoun was gone, quickly following the unknown otter.
~~~
Tagg had run swiftly for almost half an hour, until he judged that he was safely away from the weasels. The otter then found a clearing that would serve as a camp, making a small fire.
He then turned to Nimbalo. The tattooed otter didn't know much about healing, but he knew that the darts had to be removed, and the wounds dressed.
Tagg then placed his friend by the warming fire. The harvest mouse hadn't woken.
The otter's senses were on the alert, so he knew that a weasel was watching them from the edge of the clearing; not by seeing her, but by scent.
Tagg acted like he was oblivious to her presence; he lay down next to the harvest mouse by the fire, curling around Nimbalo to protect his friend with his own body. However, one paw was grasping the hilt of Sawney's blade. . .
~~~
Alysoun-the-fleet had had a hard time keeping up with the otter; a first for her. She had to rely on tracking the stranger's scent for a while, until she'd discovered his temporary camp.
The weasel had hovered around the edges of the clearing, watching, listening. . . and waiting. Finally, the otter seemed to have fallen asleep.
Alysoun stealthily crept into the camp, observing. She decided to get a good look at the otter himself. She was as silent as she'd ever been, sneaking up behind the prone otter.
A few pawsteps away, she was suddenly on the ground. The otter hadn't in fact been sleeping, judging by the quick action of his rudder, and the fact that he was now on top of her, his dagger blade tickling her throat.
~~~
~~~
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