Sycamore
It was like a giant whip crack. Screams filled the air as complete pandemonium shook the slave train. Slaves and slavers alike scattered in every direction in an attempt to get away from what was undoubtedly the source of the carnage. The young otter quickly looked about himself. If there was a time to escape, now was as good as any. Grabbing his chain-mates' arms in his strong paws, he pulled them away from where the screams seemed to emanating and ran as fast as he could.
The weasel at his left and the rabbit at his right followed him without hesitation. They had been chained together far too long not to anticipate the others' movements. Sycamore was taking charge; he would lead them to safety. They knew this, and they trusted his judgment.
The trio dashed into the swampland, cries of anguish following them like a shadow. It did not take long for the three to stumble over each other. Their chains had snagged the undergrowth, causing them to fall crashing to the earth. By now they were used to walking through the swamp, and had conditioned themselves to unconsciously avoid the snagging plants. But they had never been in a mad rush before.
Sycamore still held his companions' arms firmly as he picked himself up and continued running, going at a slightly slower pace to avoid another blunder. He was driving them hard, he knew, but the urgency of the situation called for it.
They ran like that for what seemed like hours. None of them ventured to speak or suggest stopping. Something was out there killing, and nobeast wanted to be even remotely close to where the massacre had occurred. Especially if it was on their trail. They would stop, but only when they collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
Abruptly the ground gave way from underneath the otter's foot paws. The chains hadn't snagged anything; the Earth simply disappeared beneath him. It took only an instant for Sycamore to realize that his companions were falling with him before he became waist deep in water. A sudden intense feeling of panic gripped him. They had fallen in the swamp. Desperately he tried to let go of his chain-mates and claw his way back to the bank, but they had already seized the otter and were pulling him across. An icy paw clutched his throat when he realized he had become chest deep. The paw squeezed cruelly. They were going to drown him. His attempts became more frantic, and he started to lash out at his companions. He was now neck deep. Why were they trying to drown him?
He suddenly realized he was lying face down on the spongy, moist ground. Both the weasel and rabbit were on top of him, trying to restrain his flailing limbs. He calmed instantly. When had they left the water? He blinked, trying to recall when the water had receded, when the two had lifted him from the swamp and thrown him to safety. From what he could remember, the water level had still been climbing.
But something was off. Sycamore noticed that he was quite comfortable lying on the soft bedding of moss. He couldn't detect the chill that should have accompanied his damp fur and clothing. The otter tensed. He was completely dry from the waist up. How could that be? He had nearly submerged before he had blacked out. How could he be dry? His befuddlement grew to fear, and he inhaled harshly, trying to quell the rising panic inside of him. He exhaled, and immediately inhaled again. What had happened? He was breathing heavily, desperately trying to calm himself, but he soon realized that with each breath he became more and more agitated. He was hyperventilating. The realization of it sent shivers down his spine, and he found that he could not stop shaking either. He felt a paw run its way across his back in a soothing manner, a feeble attempt to ease the panicking otter.
A considerable amount of time had passed before Sycamore was able to regain control of himself. His breathing was still harsh, but it was settling, and his violent convulsions had ameliorated to some extent. The otter sat up shakily and stared at the ground, too ashamed to look at either of his companions. The two in turn were relieved to see him in better condition. They had dealt with his panic attacks before, but never to this degree. For a while they had feared for his safety. It wasn't until a stray band of sunlight—sunlight? It was dawn already?—reflect off the chains did the otter care to speak. "So how do we get these chains off?"
Sycamore, a gentle but hydrophobic otter, is chained to Cinder, a culinary weaselbrat, and Phoebe Pavona Celendine, a stuck-up rabbit and failed social climber. For full character biographies, follow the link on the author page.