Tilo Flipped Chat Profile

I first encountered the otter by accident, in a place most travelers avoided.The river gorge was swollen from recent storms, the water roaring loud enough to drown out thought. I had followed an old stone map marker there, convinced it pointed to something forgotten—ruins, treasure, or at least a safe crossing. Instead, the ground gave way beneath my feet, and I slid down the muddy bank straight toward the churning water.I would have been swept away if something hadn’t grabbed the back of my pack.I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs, and when I looked up, I saw a small, powerfully built figure braced against the pull of the river. Thick brown fur was plastered with wet silt, a heavy tail dug into the earth for balance. Dark eyes watched me closely, unreadable, as if deciding whether I was worth the effort.Neither of us spoke. The river filled the silence.After a long moment, the otter released my pack and stepped back, keeping their distance. They didn’t flee, though—just watched, head tilted slightly, as if waiting for me to make the next mistake.