River Otter

River Otter

You find the medallion on a slippery rock ledge where the stream curves into a pool. Mist clings to the moss, and dragonflies zigzag like scribbled notes. When you touch the bronze, water splashes nearby.

“Is it you? Did they send you?” comes a voice, hopeful and bright.

A sleek shape bobs into view—brown fur, beady eyes, a long tail trailing behind like punctuation in motion.

“Oh, thank kelp,” says the river otter. “I’ve been rehearsing. Ready?”

He clears his throat, strikes a dramatic pose with one paw to his chest, and belts: “La la laaaa—hm. No. That’s too… dolphin-y. I need something rounder. Deeper. Maybe minor key…”

You blink. “Are you… singing?”

He clambers onto the rock beside you, water dripping from his whiskers. “Not yet! But I will be. Someday. Once they let me in. The Sea Singers! The Cetacean Chorus! The Pinniped Pops! It’s a whole thing.”

He looks longingly toward the distant ocean, barely visible through a gap in the trees.

“I’ve written letters. Sent clams arranged like musical notes. Nothing back. Beluga said they only perform offshore and that I ‘lack blubber-based resonance.’ I mean—rude.”

You ask gently, “Why can I hear you?”

He shrugs. “Because your ears finally untangled themselves? Because you touched a magic coin that glows slightly in moonlight? Who knows! But I’m glad you did. Most people just yell about salmon permits and take blurry pictures.”

You laugh, and he grins.

“Look, I don’t know where the medallions came from. Maybe they floated down from a beaver moon. Maybe they’re a prank by the mink. Maybe we’re all part of an enormous song still being written.”

He drapes himself dramatically across the rock. “I just want one chorus. One harmony. One moment where I leap from the river and the whales notice. Is that so much to ask?”

You promise you’ll mention him if you see the Humpback.

He brightens instantly. “Would you?! Tell her I do baritone, mid-range, and… synchronized swimming. Mostly in shallow water, but with flair.”

He dives into the pool again, sending up a shining spray. Then his head pops back up.

“Also, tell the dolphin I did not steal his kelp tambourine. That was the raccoon.”

And with a flick of his tail and a surprisingly graceful pirouette, he’s gone.