In three days the village would name Lottee Dina keeper of its traditions, and her hair refused to hold the crown braid. She sat on the porch of the flower-covered farmhouse, tugging a comb through her coily dark hair. The strands broke and sprang loose. Every braid she started slid apart before she reached her ear. The coronation crown was the oldest custom the keeper wore. Without it, she could not stand before her people. She tried again. She parted a section and twisted it tight. Her hair was too dry. It snapped back like a released spring, and the braid unraveled in her lap. She threw the comb onto the boards. Goats bleated in the yard. A pig snuffled near the steps. None of them cared that she was failing. Lottee needed something to soften her hair, and she knew nothing in the house would work. So she walked past the apple tree, heavy with red fruit, and followed the path toward the river. Cool water might help. Wet hair braided easier. That was her plan. At the riverbank she heard a small, sharp cry. A baby otter lay trapped between two rocks, soaked and shivering. It bared tiny teeth when she stepped close. It was scared of her. She stopped. She did not grab it. Instead she pulled the cloth belt from her baby-yellow dress and lowered it slowly. She spoke in a soft voice, the way she calmed the goats. The otter sniffed the cloth. Its trembling slowed. After a long moment, it climbed onto the fabric and let her lift it. As she cradled the otter, her fingers pressed into its fur. The fur was slick and shining. Then she saw why. The riverbank was lined with a thick green plant, and the otter had crushed its stalks. A clear oil leaked from the broken stems and coated the animal's coat. Lottee touched the oil. She rubbed it between her fingers. It was rich and slippery, not like water at all. Her heart jumped. She scooped a handful of crushed stalks with her free hand. Then she carried the otter and the plant back home. On the porch she worked the oil through one section of her hair. The dry strands drank it in. They turned soft and heavy. She twisted the section tight. This time it held. She braided down to her ear, and the braid stayed. She let go, and it did not spring loose. Lottee breathed out. She could build the crown now. The otter shook itself dry beside her and did not run. It curled against her ankle and watched her hands move. But she had used almost all the oil on one small braid. The crown needed dozens. She looked at the single wilting bunch of stalks in her lap, then toward the river, already far away. She would need much more, and she did not know how much the plant could give.

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.

The two new braids held, but Lottee's bunch of oil stalks was almost gone. She had to reach the river and cut more. She stood and reached for her basket. Then she heard a splash. The baby otter had left the flowers. It scrambled across the yard toward the sound of the river, its little blue dress dragging in the dust. Lottee ran and caught it just as it slid down the muddy bank. Its paws slipped on the wet ground. If it went in alone, it would get trapped again, the way she had first found it. "You can't keep doing this," Lottee said. She carried the otter back to the porch. It squirmed and chirped and pointed its nose at the water. The moment she set it down, it turned and dashed for the river again. She caught it a second time. Her arms ached. She could not walk to the river for oil while chasing a slippery otter every minute. It would slide back and drown, or trap itself, the instant she looked away. Lottee looked around the homestead for something to hold it. The pigpen was too muddy. The goats would butt it. Then she saw the apple tree by the porch steps, its trunk sturdy and its branches heavy with red fruit. The lowest branch curved into a wide, safe fork. That could work. She found a length of soft rope in the barn. She tied one end around a strong low branch. She tied the other end loose around the otter, over its blue dress, with enough slack to climb and rest but not enough to reach the water. Then she wedged an apple into the fork of the branch. The otter sniffed it, then hugged it and gnawed the skin. It settled into the fork, tethered, busy, and far from the river. Lottee watched a moment to be sure. The otter chewed the apple and swatted at a low leaf. It did not pull at the rope. It could not slide down the bank. For the first time all morning, it stayed put on its own. She grabbed her basket and hurried to the river. On the bank, the green plant grew thick. She cut stalk after stalk, more than she had ever taken, until the basket was full and heavy. She looked back once toward the house. She could not see the otter, but she heard no splash and no distress. It was safe in the tree. Lottee climbed back with the full basket on her hip. The otter still sat in the apple fork, apple core in its paws, dress rumpled but dry. She untied it and held it close. "Now I have enough," she said. The basket held stalks for many more braids. But she looked at the tethered rope and the tree and knew the otter would need watching every single day until her crown was done.

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.