CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE MASK
The rats yelled in surprise and panic as they frantically searched for their weapons, but not fast enough. Mask excelled in speed and agility even without his rudder, and stabbed half of them to death before they could lay paws on their spears and blades. Those that were left hefted their weapons and attacked, but Mask's ferocity and strength outmatched them. Before long, every rat had been wrestled to the ground and slain.
The gray otter uncorked his canteen and washed the blood from his wounds away. They were minor and would heal in a few days. After bandaging the worst cuts, Mask set off for his new home.
Near the river in a dense section of forest was a huge hollow log. The tree that it had once been was several hundred seasons old when it fell, so Mask didn't even have to duck to enter its gutted shell. The gray otter hung up the rat muzzle and tail on the wall next to all his other disguises. The false tails, muzzles, ears, and teeth of foxes, rats, ferrets, stoats, weasels, squirrels, hedgehogs, and hares decorated the entire right wall of Mask's log home. The other wall sported clip-on ear, nose, and tail jewelry along with every imaginable type of goodbeast and vermin clothing. For now, Mask kept on the heavy tattered black tunic and silk cloak he'd been wearing as a rat. Grabbing a pole with a net fastened to the end, the otter headed toward the River Moss, licking his lips. He felt like having a good trout for lunch.
Chibb had deduced that the most reasonable place to find an otter was the northern length of the River Moss, so he flew as slowly as he could above it, searching the water and the banks thoroughly. Around noon he perched in an elm by the bank and ate several nuts from his sack. He'd been flying for several hours now and needed a break.
There was a splash in the river about fifty feet off. Chibb swallowed the chestnut he was eating and craned his neck to see what was going on.
A creature was shoulder-deep in the water, splashing around. Curious, the robin flew down to the bank and watched. The gray-furred beast suddenly splashed ashore with a full net of fish. Chibb recognized it as an otter, but was confused at first because it wore tattered vermin-type garb and seemed to lack a tail. He met the creature as it stepped up onto the bank.
"Hrumph! Ahemhem, sir! Garrumph, 'scuse me. D'you know of an otter in these parts by the name of Riverwyte?" He cleared his throat again because he was nervous.
Mask pondered. "Riverwyte, y'say? Yes, I know the beast. What d'you want him for?"
Chibb was strangely unsettled by the peculiar otter's gaze. Perhaps it had something to do with the paleness of his eyes – they almost matched the gray of his fur. Suddenly something about Skipper's description of his brother rang true and the robin realized who was standing before him. However, he decided to not let Riverwyte know of his flash of insight. Instead he hopped from side to side, expressing his apprehension. "Why do I want him? His brother, Skipper, is worried about him. The poor beast wants to be sure, ahem, Riverwyte isn't dead.
Mask smiled slightly. So somebeast still cared about him. He didn't doubt that Skipper would want to visit, so he told the robin, "Yes, Riverwyte's all right. I can tell you where he lives so this Skipper beast can find him. See that island?" He pointed to a small deposit of rocks and mud with a young tree cresting it in midstream. "Well, you travel due east from it and eventually you'll find an ole hollow log. That's where he lives."
Chibb nodded vigorously, wanting to leave the presence of this odd creature. "Yes, harrumph, thank you...sir. Well, I must go, Skipper will be very pleased to know that!" Turning quickly, he performed a short run before flapping his way into the air. Like an arrow the robin sped back to where Camp Willow was located.