Lottee Dina's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The next morning Lottee sat on the porch of the flower-covered farmhouse with a fresh bunch of oil stalks in her lap. The baby otter had stayed the night, curled against her ankle. Now it wore a scrap of blue cloth she had tied around it like a little dress, with a bow she had knotted on its head. It looked proud of itself. Lottee smiled, then turned back to her hair. She had to finish this braid before the oil dried. She worked the oil through a new section and twisted it tight. The braid held. She reached for the next section. But the otter climbed her arm and burrowed into her hair. Its small paws caught the braid and pulled. The strands loosened. The oil had not set yet, and the braid unraveled in her fingers. "No," Lottee said. She lifted the otter down. It scrambled right back up and tangled into her hair again. This time it tugged loose the section she had just finished. Her careful work fell apart. A goat bleated in the yard, as if laughing. Lottee held the otter in both hands and looked at it. It chirped and pawed the air. It wanted to play. It wanted her. She could not braid and hold it at the same time. If she kept fighting, the oil would dry in her hair before she finished, and she would waste the whole bunch of stalks. She needed to keep the otter busy somewhere else. She looked around the porch. The apple tree stood heavy with red fruit near the steps. Beside it grew a thick cluster of flowers, hibiscus and sunflowers and daisies, buzzing with movement. That was it. Lottee carried the otter to the flower cluster and set it down among the blooms. She picked one bright hibiscus and rolled it toward the otter. The otter pounced. It batted the flower, then chased it under a daisy. Lottee stayed a moment and made sure it was happy. It rolled onto its back and clutched the flower like a prize. It had forgotten all about her hair. She hurried back to the porch and sat down. Her hands moved fast now. She worked the oil through, twisted, and braided down past her ear. No paws pulled at her. No fur burrowed in. The braid held. She started another, and it held too. She pressed the finished braids flat and felt the oil begin to set at last. Lottee let out a long breath. Two new braids sat firm against her head. The otter played in the flowers, safe and busy. She had won this small fight. But she counted the braids the crown still needed, dozens of them, and looked at the shrinking bunch of stalks in her lap. One good handful of oil was almost gone. She would have to return to the river soon, and take more than she had before.