Uncle Brit talked to the apprentice druid at length as Chip dealt with the stragglers.

“Well, fish daddy,” Sela said, “now that I know that you’re going to be entering this delicious sounded contest, I’m in.”

“Do you want to drop by tomorrow and plan out out next moves?” Sam asked, twirling her bow in her hands before placing it neatly on her neck.

“Who’s going where then?” Chip said, “before or after work?”

Sam smiled as Sela processed.

“After work,” River said, “you’ll all convene at someplace I designate.”

All four of the otters groaned.

“Why would they do that?” Uncle Brit said, beginning to clean the grill.

Scrub. Scrub.

“Well, Sela here, doesn’t trust Sam completely for all of his talk.”

“Hey!”

“Sam probably won’t want Sela to feel uncomfortable so that is out. Chip might be an option but then he’ll probably spend his time prepping his home rather than being productive for our first meeting.”

“This is probably true,” Chip said.

Sam gave the raven a bit of side eye as River continued, “Therefore, me being a neutral third party I shall suggest a suitable location for which the squad can talk about the problem. Perhaps the ka-pi farum? It’s far enough from the Yellowrock proper but still close enough to where most of the otters I know live.”

Scrub.Scrub.

The grates of the grill shone as one by one, the conspirators nodded.

“Can we wear cloaks?” Sam said, “If we’re going to be conspirators that is. Cloaks with cowls?”

Scrub. Scrub. The bottom of the grill flipped as both sides looked immaculate. Uncle brit flashed a smile.

“Do you just have a cloak with a cowl ready? Or are you trying to imply that I can produce three otter sized cloaks last minute for this?” River said.

“I just happen to have one ready…” Sam said, her whiskers retreating lower.