The Otter with the Warpaint

Chapter 1

A young otter sat by the river. A large fishing net had been cast into the fast river. She sat and waited and listened to the fast river. 
Her name was Sitka of the Achak Tribe. The otter had brown fur and a creme underbelly. She had two blue eyes with a head feather that sat upon her head and a necklace made of teeth. She lived in an otter tribe of course. For those who don’t know, otters and beaver are sworn, enemies. They battled over mostly land but sometimes over food.
Sitka had never encountered a beaver but had heard tales of the dangerous creatures. She yanked on the fishnet, pulling from the river. Several large red salmon were caught in the next. She slung it on her shoulder and began to head home, walking on two feet. 
Sitka went to her hut and dropped the bag on the floor. Her mother looked thrilled. 
“You have brought fish!” her mother, Birch, exclaimed.
“Yes,” Sitka nodded. Her mother carefully opened the fishing net and grabbed one of the four fish she had caught. 
“Your father is going to be excited when he sees this,” Birch began to eat the salmon. Sitka grabbed herself a fish and began to eat with her mother. 
Her father walked in with his hands full of new fishing nets. The otter set the nets down. 
“I see you’ve caught salmon, Sitka,” he proudly grabbed one, “Thank you,”. 
“You're welcome,” she nodded, “I see you brought new nettings,”. 
“Yeah, Elm was selling some so I bought them since that net is nearly busted,” he pointed to the net that still had three fish left in it. 
“Well, that's good,”. 
Before Sitka knew it was already time for bed. She laid down in a small pile of moss and leaves which was what her bed was. Her mother and father were curled up in the same set moss and leaves. Sitka laid down her head and closed her eyes. 

She had a strange dream that night. Everyone was dead. Her hands were stained with both her own blood and the blood of the other otters. 
Maybe it was a vision. Maybe a pack of wolves came by and killed everyone or even beavers. She was the only otter who was still alive though.
Sitka woke up in a cold sweat. It was morning. Her mother and father had already left. Light poured from the exit. The otter got her head feather on and made a few dots and stripes on her face. This symbolized that she was single.
The otter left her hut with the new fishing nets in her hands. Sitka headed towards the river she had fished in the day before. The net dragged behind her. She hoped to catch a crawdad today. She loved crawdad more than even catfish. 
She finally arrived at the river and cast the large net in the river. She tied it off in a log so it wouldn’t just drift away. She waited. Sitka hated waiting. To pass time, she liked to imagine. She liked to think of stories that she could tell at the bonfire. She brainstormed for a while. Maybe a story where the villain is the main character. Maybe something like an otter named Timber is a normal otter but one day is bitten by a rabid rat. Now, Timber has rabies and goes insane and kills everyone. That's a great story.
She would have brainstormed more if it weren't for a voice. 
“Hello?” a grey figure yelled from across the river. Sitka shook her head out of the clouds and stared at the figure. It certainly wasn’t an otter. The creature jumped into the water and disappeared for a moment. It was a long second of waiting before it jumped onto the shore next to Sitka. “Hello,” it repeated. It was a beaver. He wore a bronze and red neck brace around his neck. 
It took Sitka a moment to realize that. She jumped. 
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, throwing back her ears. She was placed in an attack position. 
“I just need help,” he calmly smiled. She could tell he was nervous but he looked calm.
“What for?” she tilted her head with a hiss. 
“I lost the way back to my tribe and ventured a little too far. How do I get back?” he asked. 
“Just go NorthWest from here and you’ll surely find your tribe,” she loosened her muscles to seem less threatening but her voice was still firm. 
“Thank you, otter. What is your name anyway?” he asked with a very friendly voice. She didn’t answer. “Well, I’m Ridge and I’ll be leaving now,”. The beaver jumped into the river and disappeared. She waited a moment before pulling the fishnet from the river to see several trout and two salmon caught in the net. Sitka was disappointed she didn’t catch a crawdad but a salmon was good enough. 
They still did have a few salmon from last night but she guessed that her father had given them to other tribe members. She hoisted the net on her shoulder and began walking home. She realized that she pretty much does the same route each day. Something else crossed her mind. The beaver. Ridge. 
What a strange encounter she thought. That was the first beaver she had ever seen. He was friendlier than how others make them out to be. Sitka regretted being so harsh with him. He probably was just a nice beaver. She wondered if she would ever see Ridge again. Maybe he’ll come back again although that would be dangerous for him if anyone in her tribe found out, he would be dead. 
She arrived at him with a load of fish. She set the net inside her hut and stepped out into the camp. The bonfire would start soon which made her excited.