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Post by tacticalotter2 on Dec 28, 2009 20:20:08 GMT -6
Rogg Streambattle stared out into the expanse of trees that lay before him. The mercenary otter had expected a little more of a militaristic contract outline from Lady Lorna, but all she had said was to find the rebel leader and kill him, then she sent Rogg on his way out the front gates. The young otter did not even know for sure what species this leader was, but he had overheard one of the guards talking about a skipper that was the leader of the insurrection, and since skippers were otters Rogg guessed that his target was one. How was the mercenary going to find this Skipper? He had no idea, maybe he could find some woodlander and find out from it. Yes, that would probably be the best plan. So he struck off west into Mossflower hoping to find a woodlander soon.
As Rogg walked his mind was in a turmoil deciding weather or not to actually go through with the contract and kill the Skipper. The young otter had never actually killed another otter before, but he told himself that it was for a good cause; money, but the otter knew in his heart that he could not kill another of his own species, he would have to cross that bridge when he came to it though.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard movement up ahead, the otter silently drew his sword and advanced toward the sounds in the bushes. He could see the faint outline of another creature on the other side of the shrubbery. The mercenary otter crouched low and prepared to leap on the unsuspecting creature. Without much further thought he leapt on his victim, grabbing it's head and smashing it into an oak tree. It was a young, male squirrel, and even though the hit against the tree was a hard one, he did not slip into unconsciousness. Rogg spoke calmly to the frightened squirrel, hoping to get the information he required without having to harm the little squirrel.
"Stop struggling, I'm not going to hurt you... Unless you don't tell me what i need to know. Where is the rebel camp? Tell me, or die."
The squirrel gave his interrogator a terrified look and spoke in an extremely speedy voice brought on by fear.
"They're camped about a league from here, directly west. Please! Don't hurt me, I hate the insurrectionists as much as the next beast!"
Rogg could tell that the squirrel was lying about hating the rebels, who could hate the freedom fighters? No, the mercenary otter knew that the rebels must be fighting for a good cause if Lorna wanted their leader neutralized. He let go of the quivering squirrel, letting him drop to tho ground. He stalked off through the trees calling back to his information source.
"Thanks, now don't tell anybeast that I was here or I'll come back and skin you alive"
When Rogg had traveled about a league he caught the sounds and smells of an encampment in front of him. Now was the time for silent and patient viewing of the camp. The big otter stopped and took out his yew bow and notched a poisoned arrow onto the string. He did not normally like to use his bow, but for a long-range assassination it was a necessary incumbent. The mercenary crouched and moved up over small hill and saw the rebel camp, he then fell flat on his stomach and took in the scene before him; cooking fires, tents, and assorted creatures going about their daily chores, nothing very exciting. Rogg hated waiting for a target to show, but he had to wait for this 'Skipper' to make an appearance. The otter sighed and started scanning the scene before him, searching for his quarry. Rogg sighed, this was going to be a long day.....
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Post by Treble Tiderunner on Dec 30, 2009 23:47:37 GMT -6
“Skipp!” Enon called as she dropped out of a tree. “The crew says water levels are still up in the Camp.” The northern squirrel’s voice rang clearly across the camp on the still winter air. Though they had lived in the Clearing nearly a month now, that’s all it was—a clearing. The true Camp in their minds was always that they had spent forty years in. “Heading there now?”
“No,” Skipp said, straightening with his javelins and pack. “I’m takin’ a patrol out first—we’re gonna see if we can find any nuts. Then I’ll head to the Camp.
“C’mon, lads an’ lasses.” The burly, scarred skipped motioned to the small group that waited nearby, nodding in farewell to the ebony squirrel.
"Gerhard?" Skipper said, noticing the otter's strange silence. "Speak up lad." The seven otters passed unknowing within feet of Rogg. For why should they, in their own stronghold, guard against what may be their own?
"Well, Skipp... its just the Camp, ye know? I know ye were born while it was being built, but scald me rudder if it ain't been our home all our lives!" The others around, youngsters all, nodded at this. Ger was the oldest and he himself was barely twenty-three.
"Wot will 'appen, Skipp, when we defeat Lorna? Will we return to Camp Willow?" There was an undefined longing in the young otteress' voice, for something heard of but never seen, and a mourning for the possible parting of ways with her lifelong home.
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Post by tacticalotter2 on Jan 4, 2010 23:08:36 GMT -6
Rogg had been watching the camp for some time, not much really exciting was happening. He heard the chatter from the camp quite clearly, for some odd reason noise carried so much clearer and farther in the winter. So when a black squirrel practically shouted across the camp, he noticed. For she was calling to the mercenary otter's target.
He suddenly became alert and sought the point of the squirrel's shouts. It was an otter who appeared to be leading a party of woodlanders out on patrol. Rogg knew that this must be Skipper, but he had to get conformation before he could start firing arrows. So the big otter jumped up and moved to intercept the patrol, making his way around the camp, moving slowly and taking cover when he spotted a sentry. The young otter waited for a moment, hoping that the guard would move, but he did not. Rogg cursed his bad fortune, why was it never easy. He weighed his options for a moment; should he kill the guard and move on, or try and sneak past. The mercenary decided that it was best to leave the sentry be and sneak past, even though his brutal side was telling his go go up and snap that fool's neck. But the otter restrained himself and went around, crawling on his stomach through the undergrowth.
When he had got sufficiently far enough away from the threat, the young otter got up and kept going, instinctively knowing where the patrol would go.
"Well, Skipp... its just the Camp, ye know? I know ye were born while it was being built, but scald me rudder if it ain't been our home all our lives!"
Eventually the mercenary otter heard voices. He instantly slowed his pace and cautiously crept forward until he could see the group of otters standing there talking. Rogg knew the one who was his target when another otter addressed him as 'Skipp'. The time had come. The assassin notched a shaft onto his bow and drew back, aiming the arrow at the Skipper's unprotected back. Subconsciously, the otter knew that it was wrong to kill one of his own species, he found a hard time aiming as his paws began to tremble. Was this what he had come to; killing other otters for money? Well... yes it was. The mercenary closed his left eye and drew in his breath slowly, then he closed his other eye and released the arrow, somehow; he did not want it to hit the rebel leader.....
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terg
Freebeast
Posts: 58
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Post by terg on Jan 6, 2010 16:08:55 GMT -6
Ephriam listned as Gerhard spoke. He too missed the old camp, but probably not as much as Ger. Ephriam and his brother had only been there a few seasons anyway. This didn't matter much not, since no one was able to live in the flooded tunnels now. So much had been lost that day but a lot had been learned also.
Ephriam had been selected, or rather permitted to join the expedition into the woods. He had asked, or rahter almost begged Skipp to let him come to break the boredom of playing another card game, or polishing his weapons one more time. His paws had been ithcing to run into the leafy forest and find something to do, but there where gaurd posts to be filled and kitchen chores to be done. This short expedition would be a long awaited break from those things.
The big sea otter's eyes scanned the leaves in search of the elusive nuts they where searching for. Sure squirrels would probably be better for this job but most of the squirrels where occupied back at camp, and negotiating the flooded terrain of the forest was more a job for otters.
Ephriam suddenly caught sight of a telltale patch of brown mostly covered by some foliage. Squinting he moved forward a half pace to get a better look, but this small move placed him right in the deadly path of the arrow fire mere millisecond before. Ephriam vaugly heard the twamg of a finely tuned bowstring and the hiss of a finely sharpened arrowhead. What he din't hear was leave fluttering to the ground, disturbed by the arrow, nor the barely audible rustle of Rogg hiding in the bushes. The only thought that had time to enter his brain was Wow, I might get shot...
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Post by Treble Tiderunner on Jan 7, 2010 0:39:52 GMT -6
Ger had brought up a good point, Skipper knew. The Camp had been home for forty years, and not many were left from before that time. Would his otters want to move back to Camp Willow? Would some of the woodlanders wish to stay in it accustomed protection rather than move to Redwall? Suddenly he noticed one of his number was missing. In fact, he’d heard quite a bit of rustling as Ephriam had moved restlessly about, but paid little attention as the discussion occupied him. He felt his fur raising with some sort of premonition—or sixth sense.
“Ephriam! What are you—” He said sharply, turning ‘round. His practiced eyes took the scene in in a millesecond, split moments later he was already moving, taking the three strides necessary. He stretched up, laying heavy paws on the taller lad’s shoulders, sending him tumbling forward out of the path of the arrow.
As always in combat situations, time seemed to stretch and slow for the Skipper, so he saw every moment clearly and reacted, nearly automatically. It was so as he saw the arrow, heavy and deadly. His eyes automatically raised, following its path and finding Rogg in the shrubbery. The impact of his realization knocked him back as a large force barreled into him, high on the left side of his chest, lodging neatly under his collarbone. He held Rogg’s eyes with his own, a faintly puzzled air to them, as if they understood what his mind did not yet.
Skipper’s paw swept down, reflexively hooking a finger around a holstered javelin and bringing it up, awkwardly in his right paw, but not too bad, all the same. He canted it back, taking careful aim as he steadied himself, eyes never leaving Rogg. He was an enemy, sad as it made Skipper to fire on another otter, he knew to type him by his species was to invite death. He snapped his arm forward and threw.
[[If you think it would be ok, Rogg, could ye shoot him again, once or twice? Aww, Ephriam almost took an arrow for Skipp… sorry for the gmoding, but he wasn’t on the ‘get shot by a poisoned assassin’s arrow and miss the final battle’ list… stick around though. This is gonna be fun.]]
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Post by tacticalotter2 on Jan 7, 2010 18:27:28 GMT -6
Rogg open his eyes just after he released the deadly arrow, watching it cut through the air like a pike in the water. Time seemed to slow as it traveled, he could see all of the other otters, standing there helpless to do anything against the silent arrow. The assassin winced as the projectile thudded into the skipper's chest. What had he done? He had killed another otter. He almost felt like throwing up, his stomach churned as he thought how he would not even have considered slaying another otter a few years ago, but now, he had shot one. Somehow, the young otter's heart lept as he saw the creature he had just shot, ready a javelin, then throw it with a precision brought on with so many years as being a skipper. How had he not died? Rogg did not care, as long as he did not have to watch another otter die by his paws, he was alright. He felt compelled to leave, his mission finished, but then the javelin came flying straight toward the otter's chest plate [see signature  ], he could not react quick enough to dodge the deadly missile, or really do anything about it. The big otter was thrown to the ground, and the breath came from his lungs in a great whoosh. He wondered how such a small weapon could do so much damage, without even penetrating. But then he realized that the other otters would probably not be very happy with the attempted assassination of their skipper, oh yotz, they were probably very mad, and if they captured him... The thought of strange woodland tortures galvanized the mercenary into action, jumping to his paw, he blind fired a single arrow into the melee of otters, dropping his bulky bow, the otter turned to run back to a safer position. It certainly was hard for the otter to run on land, otters are creatures of the water, not made for long hard sprints. Rogg knew that if he could only make it to a stream or other water source, he might have a chance of collecting from Lady Lorna..... [okay, so I'm thinking that one of yall should shoot me in the back and maybe capture me and... do whatever vengeful otters do] |
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Post by Treble Tiderunner on Jan 7, 2010 22:40:06 GMT -6
Skipper felt the warm wetness seeping down his chest, soaking the fur and the front of his shirt. The world around him wavered, the noises confusing and insensible, until something snapped. The world assumed its normal pace, the words crisp and clear in his head, as everything else.
“Skipper!” It was Gerhard, reaching out to grasp his shoulder and spin him roughly around.
“Augh..” He made a strangled noise of protest as the spinning wrenched his collarbone and the arrow buried near it. “S-stop.” He reached for the fierceness that kept him whole through these years and found it, suddenly standing straight, his pain pushed aside. He would survive, as he always did. “Stop. Calm down, we must—” A sudden spasm jerked his body. As he straightened, he started to speak again. “He’s an otter. Capture him, don’t—”
The arrow struck him even as Ger moved, trying to yank him out of the way, lodging near his spine. He felt light-headed suddenly, his blood rushing too fast in his ears. Ger turned him again, more gently, but the bone of his collarbone grated and the lightheadedness fell into darkness.
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Post by Skipper of Sea Otters on Jan 7, 2010 23:46:56 GMT -6
Skipper and Undertaker were taking a short walk to patrol the area a short distance. The Skipper was still getting used to the idea of taking orders from another Skipper...He didn't like it...but he had to...He wondered himself if this Skipper had the Combat knowledge that he himself did... of course the Skipper was that of a berserker...He didn't register the pain right away in battle if he was hit or struck. It would hit him after he was done fighting though once his blood flow slowed and his cells started to regenerate. He looked over to Undertaker who was scanning the wood. "Something on your mind?" he asked. Undertaker turned and looked to the Skipper pausing before speaking. "No." he said simply in his deep, gruff voice, evil-ish voice. The Skipper slightly turned his head back keeping his eyes on him for a moment being unsure.
Sounds of screams and raised voices struck their ears. Immediately The skipper drew his twin cutlass's from his back and ran towards the sound. Undertaker pulled his oversized meat-cleaver from his holster behind his back and under his cape and did the same.
Reaching the scene he saw the Skipper on the ground bleeding, along with another. The two shot into the bushes keeping out of sight from whatever might be there. "Undertaker...Get up there and protect those two...I'll see if i can take care of our problem..." Without a word Undertaker did as he was told. The Large otter's paws pounded the ground and stopped with a skid, He grabbed the Land Skipper by his shirt and pulled him to safety behind a large tree His red-ish eyes examined the wounds with no look of emotion. It was obvious though he meant to protect him at all cost. No matter how brutish he might appear.
The Skipper saw a figure bolt from the bushes and make a mad dash. The Skipper was hard after him. He might have been a sea dweller but that didn't mean he couldn't navigate the land well. He was certainly getting closer but he couldn't keep using up all of his adrenaline like this. He was running low on it...He took the small dagger from behind his back on his belt and aimed as carefully as he could as he ran for the beast's back. He threw the dagger but it was off and landed in the back of the figure's thigh. As the beast fell to the ground the Skipper approached, kicking him in the side. Out of exhaustion of the chase the Skipper fell to his knees beside the beast. He flipped him over seeing with horror. It was an otter! Why In the blazes would another otter be attacking another otter! Then again The Skipper didn't have room to talk. He had killed countless numbers of otters in his past without mercy with he was on the other side of line. The Skipper had to take things upon himself just like his Skipper had before he died. He would spare this beast life...although he would have liked to kill him right then and there...
The Skipper grabbed the otter by the top of the head gritting his teeth in anger and rage. "Damn you!" Would be the last words the otter would here before the Skipper smashed his head on a tree root......
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Post by tacticalotter2 on Jan 8, 2010 0:13:13 GMT -6
Rogg felt the sharp pain of a blade stabbing into the back of his leg. The young otter felt like he could still run forward, but on him next step his paw did not follow and he crashed to the earth, the knife cutting into his muscles like a hot knife through butter. Face-planting on the ground, he thought of how stupid it was for his to think he could kill another otter. He lay there for a split second and sighed, but then hearing the pound footpaws of somebeast coming, he suppressed the pain in his leg and reached for his stiletto. As he looked up, he saw an otter who looked as crazed as anybeast Rogg had ever seen. A mad otter, great. Why was it never easy?
"Damn you!"
Before he could bring his dagger to bear on his attacker, the big otter grabbed Rogg's head and shouted in his face. Desperately the young otter grabbed at the vice-like paws, but he could nothing with the pain, plus, he probably could not match the other otter's strength anyway. He felt a hard smash and gasped with pain as his head was beaten into a tree root. The mercenary otter's body seemed to get lighter and the pains subsided to a dull throb as he went limp, but remained conscious. He could not move his arms to strike back at the other otter, he could do nothing except speak faintly and grab at his throbbing head.
"Frell you... You....you tralk... frell, frell, frell.... aughhh...."
Why did he ever accept that contract?
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terg
Freebeast
Posts: 58
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Post by terg on Jan 8, 2010 16:17:00 GMT -6
Ephriam, after pausing several seconds to glance back at his Skipper dashed off after Rogg and the Skipper of Sea otters. He too found it confusing having two Skippers in camp, but that was hardly the point. The big otter rushed forward, his paws struggling to gain purchase in the damp leaves that littered the ground. Ephriam drew his dirk from it's sheath on his hip and tried to hold it steady despite his jerky running.
Ephriam was enraged. He had let his guard down and Skipper had been shot saving his skin. Skipper was certainly more important to the crew than he was. They could live without him, but without Skipper everything would go haywire. And why in the name of Mossflower was another otter trying to kill Skipper? He had never heard of anything like that. Vermin where the only ones ever expected to attack wood landers.
His breath was coming in huffs now, but Ephriam could finally see the shapes of two otters up ahead. He readied his dirk and slowed slightly so as not to run into the others. Finally he shoved his way through the thick undergrowth to come out beside Rogg and Skipper. The larger otter, Skipper had Rogg's head in his paws and appeared to be trying to pound it into a flat shape instead of the regular roughly round one.
"Wait, Skipp! Don't kill him!" It felt soooo weird to call this other otter Skipp, but again, that wasn't the point.
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Post by Skipper of Sea Otters on Jan 8, 2010 23:23:34 GMT -6
"Frell you... You....you tralk... frell, frell, frell.... aughhh...."
The Skipper couldn't understand what the otter was saying and honestly didn't care... If anything he was just further annoyed by it. He stopped and let go of the otter;s neck and knelt down beside him again with a closed fist. "Keep yer trap shut you sorry excuse for an otter!" he shouted smashing him in the snout a good 6 times, gritting his teeth in rage. Eventually the otter's snout would become bloody along with the Skipper's fist which was now dripping in blood.
"Wait, Skipp! Don't kill him!"
The Skipper laid in a few more punches and held up his fist halting at the sound of anothers voice. Blood dripped from his closed fist as he halted and looked behind him. "WHAT!?" he shouted angrily and obviously dangerously.
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Post by Treble Tiderunner on Jan 9, 2010 0:31:20 GMT -6
The deadness closed over his head, and he seemed to float, cradled in it. Here he just was. No ties, no affiliations, no memories. Somehow he observed the deadness around him, a certain detached curiosity, almost another entity entirely. For he really didn’t care, it was warm, and the deadness pressed. Suddenly he knew it as dark, for a bright light flashed and it fell away, leaving the cold wind to blast through his fur and the brightness of the winter day to shine in his eyes.
He groaned, his eyes opening to slits and then all the way. Was the darkness back? No… it was only that black otter. The name escaped him, and he tried to sit up. “Ugh.” A paw went to his throbbing head, the other braced him. His pulse raced erratically, spots appeared in front of his eyes. Loss of blood, certainly. But why the other? He felt nauseous and rolled onto his side, for his back seemed to be wounded as well. Poison? The word came floating out of the darkness and his considered it abstractly.
“Undertaker.” The name came, unbidden. “T-” He stopped to cough, the spasms wracking his body. “—take them… out.” He spoke hoarsely, wheezing from the coughing. “I need… my crew.” He paused, breathing hard. That second arrow seemed to restrict his breathing, hitching it into an irregular rhythm to match his heart. “Are they… ok?” He asked finally, a little desperate. He needed to know, how bad was it, who was dead. That otter had been the only one he’d seen, but who was to guess their numbers?
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Post by tacticalotter2 on Jan 9, 2010 1:40:12 GMT -6
The sun that seemed so bright a few minutes ago was starting to get very dim as the other otter beat Rogg mercilessly. Every, pound on the young otter's whiskery muzzle brought the darkness closer and closer. The mercenary had been trained to withstand a lot of damage and trauma, but the brawny creature that was attacking him was so powerful and got so many hits in before he heard a voice coming from some where beyond.
"Wait, Skipp! Don't kill him!"
Finally, a saviour. The battered otter gave a weak smile and spoke one last sentence before slipping into unconsciousness.
"That's what I was about to say...."
Rogg faded in and out of conciseness for about the next thirty minutes. When the poor otter was awake, he could feel himself being dragged, none-to-gently, through the forrest. He could faintly see the sun through the tops of the trees, it seemed to beckon him, calling him to rest. But when he tried to hold on to the feeling, it faded and he fell back into unconsciousness. In his mind, the otter could see a river, flowing water that he wanted to swim in, but the closer he came to it, the father it seemed to be. Then his mind went completely black, and he could feel nothing.
The big otter was rudely awakened with a cold pail of water being thrown in his face. The mercenary otter did not at first remember the events that had just transpired; must have been the whacks that he had received from that otter before. Rogg instinctively tried to reach for his blade and confront whoever had awakened him, but he found his webbed paws tied behind his back, apparently to a stake in the ground. He almost panicked, but then regained control of himself and tried to focus on the creature who had thrown the water. The otter still could not see properly, but he heard the sounds of a camp, then he remembered what had happened. Yotz.
It must be the rebel camp. The otter had not awakened in a good mood, why should he? But that did not matter; "There is no passion; there is serenity". He tried to keep his voice calm as he spoke to whoever had thrown the water, though it was still sarcastic. The young otter's eyes still adjusting to the world of pain that he was in from all of the awful wounds the other otter had inflicted.
"Thanks a lot"....
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terg
Freebeast
Posts: 58
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Post by terg on Jan 11, 2010 16:29:26 GMT -6
"Yer welcome a lot." Ephriam stood several yards away from the betrayer, as he had come to be known around camp as. Ephriam stood behind his mute brother Toby who held the now empty bucket of water. Ephriam was officialy trying to keep himself away from Rogg but not succeding to well. He knew that if he got to close or just looked at Rogg one to many times he would be struggling past the guards to sink a blade between his ribs or sever off his head. He was using Toby as a wall between himself and the mercernary.
"I thought you had slept long enough. Escpeccially since you don't seem to loose any sleep over killing another otter, scum. And I thought I'd seen everything."
Toby pressed back against Ephriam keeping him at bay as the older brother had asked him to do. He could understand why his older brother would want to kill this otter but he was abiding bye Skipp's command not to kill the otter. At least he hoped he was. Skipper hadn't been doing to great when they carried him back to camp, but they had assumed his cut off sentance, “He’s an otter. Capture him, don’t—” was meant to end in "-kill him". They couldn't be sure though. Seeing as they had staunched his bleeding and slapped on some crude bandages though, and given him a nice drink of water, it seemed wrong to just kill him. So he stayed alive, at least until Skipp could dish out orders again. Which he would be able to soon- they hoped.
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Post by Skipper of Sea Otters on Jan 11, 2010 22:53:45 GMT -6
“Undertaker.” The name came, unbidden. “T-” He stopped to cough, the spasms wracking his body. “—take them… out.” He spoke hoarsely, wheezing from the coughing. “I need… my crew.” He paused, breathing hard. That second arrow seemed to restrict his breathing, hitching it into an irregular rhythm to match his heart. “Are they… ok?” He asked finally, a little desperate.
Undertaker's white, glowing eyes looked down at the River otter and nodded without a word. He couldn't help in from behind the tree in the bushes. The open would have to do. Even if Undertaker himself got hit we would still stick to his duty. The Large otter gently pulled the river otter to the open ground and looked around for his Skipper who was no-where in sight. The Undertaker looked at the wounds that the had been inflicted on this Skipper. They were quiet nasty and judging by how the otter was reacting it wasn't a regular arrow wound either. If it was regular the otter would be screaming in pain. Instead, the reaction was dulled by lack of strength. It was definitely poisoned. Undertaker, as a mender, needed to act quickly. He leaned into the other skipper and put the side of his paw in the beast mouth to bite down on. "Be still..." the Large otter said in his deep, almost demonic sounding voice. With his other paw he grabbed the shaft of the arrows and slowly and painfully started pulling them out.
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Meanwhile
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The Skipper stood infront of Rogg, the knuckles on his paws, bloodied and ruffled. He was breathing heavy from the beatings he had been giving him. He enjoyed it though...every second of it. It reminded him of how the Skipper before Him beat the Hell out him...quite literally....
The Skipper balled his fist up again and threw another punch towards Rogg's face but raised his aim up hitting the post just above his head with a loud crack sending a few small drops of blood on the otter's head. He leaned in close. "You...Sicken me...." he said before spitting in his face...yet another part of his past trickling out...He slammed the heel of his footpaw down on Rogg's footpaw and turned on it walking back away to pace. "An Otter! Trying ta' kill another otter!" he shouted. Leaning back in and shouting in his face. "I don't care who ya' are! And I don't care who sent ya'! ...Hell! I don't even care why ya' are! Ya' should just be dead by now"
Were the exact word the previous skipper had said to him...
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], he could not react quick enough to dodge the deadly missile, or really do anything about it. The big otter was thrown to the ground, and the breath came from his lungs in a great whoosh. He wondered how such a small weapon could do so much damage, without even penetrating. But then he realized that the other otters would probably not be very happy with the attempted assassination of their skipper, oh yotz, they were probably very mad, and if they captured him... The thought of strange woodland tortures galvanized the mercenary into action, jumping to his paw, he blind fired a single arrow into the melee of otters, dropping his bulky bow, the otter turned to run back to a safer position. 
