Lottee Dina's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The basket of oil stalks sat full on the porch. Lottee had enough now for many braids. But she still faced the same trouble. Every time she walked to the tree to check her otter, her fingers left the strands, and the half-finished braid slipped loose. She could not hold dozens of strands and mind a restless otter at once. She needed a way to keep the otter close and quiet while she worked. She looked at the otter tied in the apple fork. It chewed a fresh apple, but its eyes kept darting toward the sound of the river. It tugged the rope. It would bolt the moment she looked away, and then her braids would unravel again while she chased it. Then Lottee saw the flower bed by the stone walkway. Hibiscus, sunflowers, daisies, and orchids grew thick there in a bright cluster. The day before, a single hibiscus had held the otter's attention long enough for two braids. A whole bed of blooms might hold it much longer. She untied the otter and carried it to the flowers. She set it down among the tall stems. The otter froze, then poked its nose into a sunflower. It batted a daisy. It crawled under an orchid and peeked out. Its little dress dragged over the petals. It forgot the river completely. Lottee settled on a flat slab of the stone walkway, right beside the flower bed. From here she could reach the blooms and still see the otter without standing up. She dipped her fingers in the oil and took up a section of hair. She braided. Whenever the otter drifted toward the edge of the bed, she plucked a hibiscus and rolled it across the stones. The otter pounced and dragged it back into the flowers. It never once looked at the river. Lottee's fingers did not stop. One braid held. She began another without rising. The otter tumbled through the daisies, chirping, chasing a bloom she tossed. Lottee finished a third braid, then a fourth. Her hands stayed on the strands the whole morning. The oil held every twist tight. By midday she counted more braids done than on any day before. Her scalp ached, but the crown was taking shape at last. She had solved it. She did not need to choose between the otter and the braids. Seated by the flowers, she could do both. She reached up and touched the new braids. Many more still waited. But now she had a way that worked. The otter yawned in the flower bed, curled on a bed of trampled petals, and slept. Lottee looked at her basket of oil, then at the sleeping otter, then at her half-made crown. Tomorrow she would braid again the same way. She just needed enough days before the coronation to finish them all.