John sat on the bank, his back legs sinking slowly into the mud. Irritated, he shifted his rump to a drier patch of grass and gazed out across the water to where Sherlock sat perched on a partially exposed log.
"Are you finished yet?"
"Almost," He slapped his ottery tail on the log and skittered across it, sniffing the abandoned beaver dam, "It'll need some furnishings. Perhaps a nice rug that we can curl up on."
"Can I see?" John was becoming uncomfortable, his light brown spines rising marginally, lifting his striped jumper. Sherlock rolled into the water on his back and drifted lazily over to where John sat, using his tail as a rudder.
"Well get on, then."
"On your belly?"
"Of course, how else would I ferry you over there?"
Reluctantly, John pawed the soft fur of Sherlock's stomach and crawled on, wobbling slightly as he tried to steady himself. With one strong push, Sherlock sailed like a furry boat over to the dam. John scrambled off his belly and onto the configuration of sticks, sniffing it curiously.
"Oh this could be quite nice," He exclaimed, nosing into the interior of the dam.
"Yes, I think so," Sherlock slithered in after him and inspected the perimeter of the room before curling up in the center. John sauntered over and nestled himself beside Sherlock, taking care not to prod him with his quills.
"I think a quick nap won't hurt," He yawned and stretched his paws out in front of him, burying his nose into Sherlock's damp fur. Silence stretched out for a moment before John raised his head and found that the otter beside him was already fast asleep, his whiskers quivering as he exhaled deeply. John huffed in amusement and closed his eyes, imagining what kind of moss he should collect for a suitable rug later on in the day.