The trading town of Souford was bustling with the throws of industry and the bartering of goods and services.  Creatures from far and wide came to visit, to trade, and to learn from how the town worked in order to take the lessons home and try to implement something similar to improve their own economy.  The ship builders often came from as far south as Tsinion's Point to gather boat making materials not found in their own lands, and lovers of the exotic foods came from the north to sample the imported fruits and treats that were sold from Souford's many vendors.  Many would say Souford was the busiest town in the whole county of Brokkenshire while others would argue it was the busiest in the whole country of Denia.  

Part of the backbone of the town's success was the Otter Post service.  Eight otters charged with a barge and a tight delivery schedule.  The water based transit would travel the length of Brokkenshire as far as the Ne'erstill Stream would allow taking cargo and deliveries to those unable, or unwilling, to make the trek south to Souford.  As it passed through the territory of many other otter tribes the troupe of postmasters had been made of otters from all the tribes.  To prevent arguments between the factions, all postal otters cut loyalty to their homes and became loyal to the group.  They were a neutral team and no matter the politics of the others, the passage of the postal barge was, for the most part, accepted and allowed without hindrance.

The position of the head of any otter group was known as the Keeper.  It was Keeper's job to oversee his tribe's safety and to make sure that everyone was in good health and doing their jobs.  This role was especially important for the Keeper of the postal otters.  It was Keeper who kept note of the politics of each otter faction, as well as the goings on in each town and village served by the barge.  He was also in charge of making sure security of high-value items was watertight.  Over the years they had built up a high reputation and there were many who relied on the service they provided as the airmail methods of the Swallow Post and their ilk could only take letters and not freight.

As each Keeper aged he or she would decide who should take over in their place.  While the role normally went to the second in command there were times when there were other suitable candidates, or the second did not want to take full-time command and were happy to remain the assistant.  This was the predicament Keeper O'Konor was facing.  He was close to retirement from the troupe and his second in command was very close to that position himself and did not want to subject the tribe to having a new Keeper for a short period.  They both decided it was best to bring in some younger blood to take over the role.

Two otters showed promise for the role as the tribe's new Keeper, with the loser making a very strong second should they want the role.  The first task, however, was the application process.  It was pointless singling out two otters if they did not want to take on the responsibility.  This was handled over a bowl of hot root stew in their favourite public house in Souford.  Keeper confirmed to his crew what was going to happen, and if anyone wanted to be considered for the role of Keeper they were to speak to him afterwards in private.  The remaining six otters were sad they would be losing their leader and second but looked forward to the selection of a new Keeper and his appointment of a new assistant.

Three otters approached Keeper after the meal.  The two he had in mind and a third who wanted to see if a position of a second to the second could be opened to offer a chance to gain experience in a role of responsibility without really having much power.  It was an interesting idea but Keeper thought it best if the new leaders made that decision.  This just left the two otters expected in the running.  It was time to start planning.

Over the next few days they travelled up the River Brock, through the River Avonflow, and eventually into the fast flowing and shallower waters of the Ne'erstill Stream.  At each stop Keeper would speak to each mayor, village leader, or town head to catch up on gossip and get a feel for the lay of the political landscape.  In secret, however, he was also convincing each leader to help take part in the leadership challenge he was planning.  With the debt of gratitude owed to the postal otters by so many it was not hard to find enough willing volunteers to lend a paw to the proceedings.

Upon arrival at Windrush's small jetty, the most northern point before they left Brokkenshire and went into areas they were not welcome, Keeper revealed his plan.  There was to be a race.  From Windrush to Souford.  A test of speed, strength, and stamina.  They had to stop at each of their normal stops and check in with a representative from each village or town before continuing on.  The progress reports would then be collected by the postal barge on its return trip to Souford and the winner of the contest announced after the judging completed.  The two otters were overjoyed with the challenge.  They each fancied themselves as strong swimmers and were ready and raring to go.  Keeper had to hold them back, letting them get some rest at a site called Conner's Oak before the race could begin in the morning.  He also had to apologise to the remaining otters for increasing their workload while the race was going on.  The others understood and were more than happy to work a little harder for the trip back to base.  Once the post had been unloaded the group headed over to their rest site to have an evening meal and get some sleep.  It was going to be a busy day in the morning.

#

Sunrise came all too late for the excited duo waiting to battle it out for the chance to be Keeper.  They had woken before dawn and had been out walking in the forests of Windrush in an effort to get their muscles warmed up and ready for the long swim they had ahead of them.  Jephit, a muscular brown otter with a cocky streak and a cheeky smile had woken first and sunk out to do a little light exercises but was soon joined by his smaller but more streamlined rival Sambit.  Together they trained in the forest, giving the felines of the forest a few problems as they accidentally disturbed some of their nocturnal prey, much to the annoyance of a hunting snow leopard.  A few apologies later and the otters returned to the hut to find their colleagues waking and getting ready to prepare some breakfast as dawn started to break.

A tan coloured cat greeted the group at the small jetty on the bank of the Ne'erstill.  She was flanked by a couple of younger felines carrying the post to load onto the postal barge.  She introduced herself as SandLion, one of the tribe elders, sent as an emissary to begin the race.  Keeper kept his joy at this a secret.  While he was grateful the tribe had agreed to send anyone, he had hoped to get a Lion and not a Claw.  It was always better to have an official figure start something like this rather than a warrior.

Jephit and Sambit had to help load the barge but as soon as the task was completed they were ready to start their challenge.  SandLion gave a brief speech about the importance of a fair fight before wishing the pair luck as she gave a countdown and gave the signal to begin.  With a splash the two otters plunged into the river and shot off towards Avonwood, the first scheduled stop on their list.

News of the race appeared to have reached the villagers of Windrush as along the stream there were pockets of cheering supporters.  No one called the names of the contestants but gave great energy to their shouts of encouragement.  This buoyed the two racers as they allowed the flow of the current to assist with their speed and before long the two river dogs were out of Windrush and approaching the start of the River Avonflow.

The water of the Avonflow was the territory of the Avonflow Otters, who themselves had split into factions to maintain the peace in the river.  The northern sect of the Avonwood otters were generally a friendly group but they often had strained relationships with their southern relatives due to their increasing numbers and want to control the whole river.  As the racing duo entered the Avonflow they were flanked by a small patrol of Avonwood's members.  This brought the race to a halt while the contest was explained.  The patrol allowed them to pass but gave warning about the mood of the Avonflow South group.  While the northern otters were happy enough to allow the contest to continue, those south of the river had increased patrols and were often straying beyond their realm and showing increasing aggression.  Sambit thanked them for the warning and informed them that they would be staying for a meal at Avonwood before continuing so would get the latest there.  With some fond farewells the race began again.

The extravagant pier at Avonwood was just under half a day from Windrush for the postal barge but free of their burden the two otters made it seem like a short jaunt.  Before the sun had reached the highest point they both were greeting the harbour master and making their way into the village to meet their respective contacts and to enjoy lunch.  They had been matching each other all morning and were both glad to be able to rest.  What surprised them was when they were split up and two dock workers took them to separate places to eat.

“It's to make sure you don't stick together the whole journey," the tiger escorting Sambit explained.  “Keeper figured you would both try to keep up with the other when he really wants you almost clueless about the other's exact whereabouts.  You'll be kept updated as to your position when you enter and leave your scheduled stops."

“Since I climbed the jetty first, does that mean I'm in the lead?"

“Technically, yes," the feline docker replied as he opened the door to a public house and showed the otter to his table.  “Though I wouldn't get too complacent.  Being alone will probably affect your swimming speed without you realising it.  Plus you'll have the Avonflow otters to contend with.  They've already lodged a complaint at Glanyrafon about the contest and if it was not for the mayor there threatening to raise hell I expect they would have tried to block your passage."

“They probably still will.  I guess going alone we stand a better chance of slipping past their patrols and not drawing too much attention to ourselves."

“That's if the ducks don't keep them updated.  You know what they're like with gossip.  Info like the progress of you both would be quite valuable if bartered with the right otters."

Sambit pondered on those words while his minder went to the kitchen to fetch his meal.  The ducks were a nuisance sometimes but often a reliable source of good information if the price was right.  He considered if it was worth bribing the ducks to keep quiet when a large bowl of hotroot soup was placed under his nose.  All other brain activity ceased while he inhaled its spicy aroma before digging into the bowl with gusto.  It was only when the spoon was scraping the bottom of an empty bowl did any form of rational thought make a comeback.  The tiger was looking at him with an expression of shock and horror.

“Sorry," the otter said with a slight embarrassed blush.  “Table manners aren't my thing so much when I'm hungry,"

“I have never seen anyone devour something as hot as that so quickly," the striped cat said.  “I wasn't disgusted, I was worried for you.  Yet you didn't even need a drink to wash it down with."

“It's soup," Sambit laughed, “it washes itself down.  Now, I must continue with the swim."

Together they walked down to the harbour and met with the master.  The German Shepherd confirmed Sambit was the first otter to leave, and with some words of thanks the otter departed on the next leg of his quest.  He knew the jetty at Glanyrafon was enough of a swim away to have him swimming deep into the night with the barge so he redoubled his efforts to try and shave as much time off as he could and arrive before the sun had finished setting.

He was making good time, or at least he thought he was.  He knew the route well enough and certain landmarks were passing him by at a pleasing rate.  He poked his head out from below the water to double check he was where he thought he was.  His mental tracking of the route was disrupted by a call for help from his right.  Alongside the bank was a small bundle of wriggling netting hanging from a tree.  Inside was an otter pup begging for assistance for all he was worth.  Thoughts of the race were pushed aside in a heartbeat as Sambit dashed ashore and to where the trap had been sprung.

“Thank the river you found me," the pup sobbed as he continued to try and escape.  The youngster looked no older than three seasons, but trussed up in a net it was hard to tell.  Fetching his small knife from the leather pocket on his ankle, Sambit set to work freeing the child and getting him back on Terra Firma.  

“What's your name, little guy?" he asked as he slashed through the netting.  Working with care to avoid cutting the wriggling bundle of fluff contained within the otter managed to break enough of the trap to free its captive.  The small otter sat on the ground before leaning forward and latching on to his saviour's leg and to give it the longest hug Sambit had ever experienced.  Long after the situation had become somewhat awkward the young mustelid found his voice.

“M, m, Miko," he stammered.  His wide eyes looked up at the mountain of muscle and fur and met with the older otter's own.  Sambit's heart melted as he saw the fear, relief, and a tinge of awe on the child's face.  He bent down and scooped his new friend up before slipping back into the water.

“We'd best be getting you back home, youngster," he said with a cheery pip.  “Any idea where it is?"  The young otter pointed downriver so together they took a gentle swim with the postal otter carrying the pup on his back and the passenger pointing directions and navigating.

The otter's mother was overjoyed at getting her son back.  She wanted to shower his rescuer with praise and gifts but Sambit would have none of it.  He told her of his challenge to become Keeper of the postal barge and after much appreciative hugging she let him be on his way.  Knowing this delay had set him back quite some time he proceeded with speed to the berth at Glanyrafon.  By the time he reached it the darkness of the evening was setting in.  His guide was waiting for him.  A white rabbit with long greying ears and long back legs.  He seemed to be relieved to see the otter as Sambit climbed out of the water.

“Oh good, you're here," the rabbit said.  He spoke his words with such speed it seemed that they were falling over themselves to come out of his mouth.  “You are quite, quite last I'm afraid.  Jephit got here before sundown and I was worried.  So worried.  It would have been horrible to hear something had happened to you."

“Something did happen to me but that can wait until I've eaten," the otter gave a small chuckle.  “Worry not, friend, let's feast and I will tell you all about it.  And then I think a little sleep is in order."  Together the pair walked to where feeding and sleeping arrangements had been made.  They were not far from the riverbank as the village was a good long walk from the shore.  Soon the otter was eating a large helping of fish and hotroot stew and telling his companion the story of how he found young Miko.  After that, he settled down to get some sleep.  The swim to Avonmouth normally took the best part of an entire day and it was not a swim to be done when tired.  Besides he had a race to win and he was not willing to let his tiredness jeopardise it.

#

Waking up before dawn had never been easier for Sambit.  He found that once his eyes opened he was full of energy and ready to race.  Bouncing out of his bed he trotted to the window to see the rabbit tending to a fire and heating some water.  With a skip and a hop the otter had left the small single-roomed hut he had called shelter for the night and was by the side of his guide helping prepare breakfast.  The meal was enhanced with a fresh fish caught when he wanted to add something extra to the meal and before long he had enjoyed a hearty meal which would give him the boost to get to Avonmouth without the need to stop for snacks along the way.

The rabbit, who had been awake the whole night so he could keep an eye out for the other competitor departing, confirmed that Sambit would be back in the lead after his pretty long delay the night before.  This put the racer in even higher spirits and after a short farewell to his newest friend he plunged back into the depths of the River Avonflow to complete the next stage in his challenge.

The early rays of dawn danced upon the surface of the river as if trying to wake all the creatures within with a blanket of light and warmth to replace the cold and wet shroud of the water.  The otter found it much more pleasing to coast along the top of the shoreline than it was to dive underneath.  The wildlife under the surface did not pay much heed to the natural alarm clock in the sky, however, as most of it was already stirring and populating the river with its presence.  From voles and water rats to the various fish that had made the river and its banks their homes.  Each passing mammal was given a cheerful morning greeting while the prospect of being a meal kept most of the rest of the creatures away.

Experience with carrying the post gave Sambit the knowledge that this stage of the race was more about stamina than speed so he maintained a steady pace that he felt he could sustain over the length of the journey.  There was no point going flat out only to have to stop and rest before the village of Avonmouth was in sight.  He gauged his arrival time at around a quarter of the day sooner than he would have been had he had the barge to worry about as well.  This would put him on course to get to the next rest stop not too long after the time when the sun was at its highest point in the sky.  Looking up at the day ball he could see that it was still a long way from getting there.

When the sun was halfway to reaching the height of its arc the otter passed a group of voles on the river bank.  He could hear the sounds of crying and decided to see if there was anything he could do to help.

“Excuse me," he called as he stopped and swam over.  The voles were surrounding a  rowing boat which had run aground in a patch of mud.  It was not a large craft but it seemed to be quite seaworthy and it seemed that bad luck had grounded the party on a shallow edge of the bank.  The group turned with a collective jump of surprise when Sambit hailed them.  “I couldn't help but overhear crying as I passed, is everything alright?"

“No," sobbed a middle aged female vole.  “My mother has been taken ill and we were due to visit.  She lives in Avonmouth so we decided to take a boat there as it's a long swim.  Only we had a small accident further up river and broke our oars."  Her words tailed off into more sobbing so a younger male continued the story.

“We were all paddling with our paws instead but we couldn't control the boat.  We kept crashing into the shoreline, which was okay as we could all push against it to carry on.  Then we hit this mud patch and we're stuck fast.  We tried to get out and push but the mud is too deep for us."

“And now we're never going to get to Avonmouth," the female vole finished with a loud sob.  

“Well as it happens I'm headed for Avonmouth myself," Sambit said with a disarming smile.  “So if we work together I can have you there in no time."  The vole stopped sobbing and looked at the otter hard in the face.

“You'd really help us?" she asked.  A nod and a smile was her reply.  Exploding with thanks she leapt at the otter and embraced him in the second long hug he had received on his journey.  Once she had finished expressing her gratitude Sambit turned to the others.

“Can you all find something to moor this craft to the bank?  I'm going to get it out of the mud and we don't want it floating away by itself, do we?"

In a trice the voles had scattered and soon returned with long sections of ivy and assorted vine-like foliage.  Working them into a rope the voles secured one end to the boat's mooring post and the other to a sturdy looking tree root that had poked out from the banks of the river.  Satisfied with the strength of the twine, the otter went to stand in the mud to push the boat free.  He instantly sank up to he waist as he put his body weight on its brown surface.  The voles were horrified but he just shrugged it off and set to work manhandling the craft until it was freed from the mire.  The voles swam around it and guided their transportation to safety before coming back to help pull the stuck postal worker from his predicament.

After some pulling it seemed the voles lacked the strength to extract their helper from his new resting place so Sambit changed tactics.  He leant forward and laid on the surface of the mud.  Kicking with his legs and pulling himself forwards with his arms he felt the grip on his body loosen until with a loud schlorphing noise he was free.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the brown shape of his rival swimming past and hoped he would not be spotted.  The last thing he wanted was to disturb Jephit's race too.

Once he was sure the coast was clear Sambit rolled over and over until he had moved himself off the mud patch and back into the water.  He was coated in brown silt from head to toe so spent a good few moments giving himself a scrub down.  Once he had cleaned himself he made sure his knife was still attached to his ankle.  It was so he used it to cut some of the unused rope materials into a makeshift harness.  This was then attached to the mooring line.  He clambered inside and tied it tight around himself before inviting the voles to climb aboard the boat.  With his passengers aboard he cut the line between himself and the moor and soon the family of voles were taking a pleasant cruise down the river with an otter powering their boat.

The added weight slowed him down considerably but he was able to maintain a speed which was faster than the water current so he was able to keep the line tight and his precious live cargo somewhat safe from further accidents.  The female vole did not stop her crying, however this time they were tears of happiness.  The rest of the family gave frequent calls of encouragement which only served to stoke the fires of determination in the race competitor.  By the time they reached the pier at Avonmouth any passer-by passer would have thought the voles had been rescued by a superhero from the noise and cheering the family gave him.

A large grey hare introduced himself as Jack and he assisted the family from the vessel before helping the otter escape his harness and climb up to dry land.  This time all of the family have him a long hug as they thanked him for his troubles.  Jack almost had to rescue him as they said their goodbyes and parted ways.  The sun was long past its highest point and Sambit knew he was arriving in second place but he did not mind at all.  Even if he had thrown away his chance of being Keeper for the tribe the gratitude he had received more than made up for it.  

He was still on a high from the experience as he ate a much needed dinner and settled down to rest.  The day had been long and exhausting but even the tiredness could not take the smile from his face.  Jack informed him that he was about a quarter of a day later to arrive than his friend.  It did not matter.  The rest of the race would just about take less than a day and with a brief stop at  Brockwarren to refuel half way through.  With this thought in mind the otter allowed the hare to escort him to the inn where he would be sleeping and settled down for a well earned sleep.

#

The morning of the final day of the race came all too soon.  Sambit lay in his bed and wondered quite why his muscles ached as much as they did.  Crawling out his pit of slumber the otter stretched his complaining joints until they seemed to realise the ordeal was not yet over and ceased their protestations.  The next opponent to combat was his stomach as his need for breakfast made itself apparent.  Going down the stairs to the inn he found Jack already up and about and putting a solid looking breakfast on the table.

“Good," the hare said, seeing his charge enter the dining room, “I was worried I was going to have to wake you up.  Breakfast is served."

“Fantastic," was the simple reply as Sambit sat at the table and attacked a large bowl of hotroot stew.  The hot and spicy meal was shovelled down the otters throat and almost failed to have time to even be chewed.  A large glass of water was only taken advantage of as a method of washing the meal down afterwards.  No heat was hotter than an otter could handle.  Or at least that was the legend they had built up over the years.  With a satisfied hiccup when his meal was finished, the two creatures departed for the small wooden pier that led to the starting point for the final leg of the competition.

An Old English Sheepdog who introduced herself as Cardiff greeted them and announced that Jephit had started his final leg not long ago so if he hurried the otter might be able to catch up.  This was all Sambit needed to hear and after giving his farewells he dived into the water of the mouth of the River Avonflow and traversed into the waters of the wide and slow River Brock.  The race was on.

Every ounce of strength and speed was put in to his racing as the otter used all the tricks and skills he knew to swim fast.  While yesterday he had already accepted defeat he was given a new hope knowing that he was not far behind his opponent and he could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.  His powerful back legs pushed against the moisture rife environment he was enveloped by and he tried to keep to a tight turning line through the meandering corners of the river.  He even tried to find the stronger currents to allow the natural flow of the river to help push him to his goal.

The normal run to Souford from Avonwood took over a day with some night running so Sambit estimated he could reach his last stop at Brockwarren by just past mid-morning before dashing past Toadland Marshes and Pentreafon in the early afternoon.  This would then be followed by the not too long sprint to Souford in the late evening.  The River Brock was much more populated with trade and pleasure travellers than the bodies of water previously traversed.  This made for an interesting run as he found that not only was keeping a good racing line a priority he was also having to dodge the hazards that the sunny morning had provided.

Patches of creatures appeared on the riverbank at semi-regular intervals and cheered Sambit on.  He was a little surprised to see them but took the encouragement to heart and pushed on through the aches that were starting to make themselves known again.  The closer towards Brockwarren he got the more there seemed to be groups to cheer him on.  By the time the jetty appeared the banks were lined with spectators.  Rows upon rows of ferrets all there to give the otter a hero's welcome.  

A ferret in the clothes of the village council greeted Sambit as he clambered out of the water.  She guided him through the amassed gathering and into the local inn.  The chefs to the otter's meal had just been given some assistance in creating the perfect hotroot soup by the otters of the northern otters of the River Brock and so the lunch time meal was one of the finest Sambit had ever eaten in his life.  Happy and satisfied he went back to the race.  

On the jetty he saw a pair of official looking ferrets.  One was dressed in very fine robes with a gold chain around his neck.    It was the mayor of the village who had come to see the two of them off.  He informed the otter that Jephit had left only a few minutes ago so it would be possible to catch him up.  With this delightful news ringing in his ears the otter said goodbye and dived into the waters of the River Brock.

This was it.  The final section of the final day of the race.  With his opponent only a short distance ahead Sambit knew that victory was achievable.  So he pushed harder than he had ever pushed in his life.  A few minutes was still a good amount of ground to make up but Jephit had always been that little bit slower and if Sambit could keep his speed fast and consistent he knew he could catch his rival.

The early afternoon sun was in the sky as he zipped past the mooring at the Toadland Marshes.  Beyond that lay the meadows and forests near Pentreafon and from there it was the long sprint to the finish.  The lining of ferrets along the banks thinned out and was soon replaced by mice and other small creatures.  The village almost flashed by and the last pier of the race before Souford was passed.  Just an afternoon of swimming left and the winner would be decided.

Tiredness was trying to set in as his joints started to call out in pain but the otter pushed the feelings to the back of his mind.  He knew he could do it.  He zipped through the river, taming each faster moving current and dodging the barges and river crafts of the trades and pleasure cruisers.  When the afternoon started to turn to evening he saw the brown form of Jephit up ahead.  He was still just a blur in the distance but this was the first time he had seen his opponent since the incident with the voles.  This spurned him on to push even harder.  They were getting close to the goal and so time left to overtake his friend was running out.

Little by little the small blob of Jephit became larger until Sambit had a clear vision of him.  The banks of the river started to be lined with all manner of creatures again as they approached the busy, industrious town.  The crowds cheered as they saw the two otters so close with the trailing otter gaining.  Using every last ounce of energy he could summon Sambit gave one last big push and drew up almost alongside his opponent and went for the overtake.  The reply was almost immediate as Jephit gave a burst of speed of his own.  Sambit matched it.  With the finish line in sight and the dusk of the late afternoon starting to set it Sambit closed his eyes and charged forwards.

#

The two otters were treated to quite the meal when they arrived at the local tavern to have a well-earned meal and a rest.  Both otters were exhausted and were more than happy to accept assistance through the crowds to get to their table.  Each wore a very weary smile but only one wore the winner's sash.

“That was quite a finish," Jephit said as a cheerful lynx brought two steaming and large bowls of hotroot stew for the pair.  “I thought you were going to take it right at the end."

“Yours was a worthy victory," Sambit agreed with a breathless sigh.  His body hurt all over and he could not wait until after the meal to go and have a massage and then a very long sleep.  “It would have been nice to be Keeper but I could not have lost to a more worthy winner."

“Don't get too defeated," the lynx said on his way back to the kitchen.  “From what I understand the race winner is not the only factor that will decide who wins the role."

“That's true," Jephit confirmed.  “Remember Keeper never said that the winner of the race would be the new Keeper, he only said he'd collect the results from each of our stops and decide from there."

The two bowls of hot stew were consumed with relish and the otters were led away to be pampered by the owners of the town's luxury resort for trades people needing some rest and relaxation.   Two bears worked their massaging magic and soon Sambit and Jephit felt as good as new and the most relaxed they had felt for as long as they could remember.  

“Boss was going to charge Keeper for your treatment," one of the bears said as they otters were lead to a large tub of fire-warmed water.  “But trade has skyrocketed since the ducks made a big thing of your race so the Boss is going to pamper you two silly as a thank you.  It's our mission to make you two so refreshed Keeper won't be able to contain your energy when you return to work."

By the time the postal barge had returned from Windrush the two otters were ready and raring to work again.  Their time being pampered had been amazing but, as the bear had promised, they were ready to return to delivering the mail.  As the barge was unloaded they reunited with Keeper and the troupe.  Loud greetings were sounded from all as the otters made a fuss of their potential future leaders.  Jephit had been encouraged to wear his victory sash again so many congratulations were passed around.  Keeper said he would reserve his judgement until he had heard to the Souford race official and had a meal himself.

Later that evening the troupe were at the tavern enjoying the fine brews provided from the various villages around Souford and toasting Keeper's last run of the post as their leader.  During the festivities he parted ways with the group and took his second in command to a private room to discuss the matter of assigning a new leader.  It was quite a while before the pair returned to the celebration.  Clanking a spoon against a flagon of ale the lead otter drew the attention of the others and a hush fell over the party.

“First I want to congratulate Jephit for coming first in the race," he called.  There was some cheering and applause before he could continue.  “I understand it was a very close finish in which Sambit came from behind to almost steal the win at the last moment."

“And if the finish line had been a little further away he might have done so too," Jephit added with a laugh.  “I was completely drained and ready to collapse."

“And you think I wasn't?"  Sambit chipped in.  There was a round of laughter which followed.

“So let's have a toast to Jephit, winner of the race," Keeper called.  There was a loud chorus of cheers in Jephit's name followed by a moment of silence as the otter troupe took a deep draft of their beverages.  “Now we have to address the problem of who will replace me as Keeper because as you know this was my last post run before I retire from the role to pursue a more peaceful life here in Souford.  This has been a much more difficult decision than I had anticipated due to how the race panned out."  There were murmurs of confusion that followed his words.

“Don't forget," the second said, having to raise his voice above the muttering, “the role was not just decided on who won the race but on many other factors."

“As we on the barge will know," Keeper continued, “we met a few characters along the way.  Each of them had something good to say about our racers but there were a couple that really stuck out.  As we take the mail we are more than just workers moving mail from post to post.  We are part of the community in each of the places we serve.  Folks rely on us and we need to make sure that we're friendly and approachable at all times.

“We met a very happy mother of a young otter who had been captured in the woods between the villages of Avonwood and Glanyrafon.  His recuse had come in the form of Sambit who appears to have sacrificed his lead in the race to ensure that mother and pup were reunited and the youngster was safe."  His words were met by more cheers.  “Not only that but Sambit again gave up his lead on route to Avonmouth to assist a family of voles.  I am happy to say the vole's mother has made a full recovery, Sambit, and her family were so thankful for your help they actually made me cry."

“They were lovely," Sambit said.  The smile he wore after helping them had returned as he remembered the family and the muddy trouble he had gone through to help the voles get out of their predicament.  “They really kept my spirits up as I towed them to Avonmouth.  Jack got the shock of his life when he saw me turn up with them."

“Yes," Keeper laughed, “he mentioned that in his report to me.  He said that even though were sure you had long lost the race, you kept your head up and handled yourself with dignity.  This is what I mean when I saw we are part of the community.  Your selfless actions may have cost you the race  but you have won the hearts of all those you met along the way.  It is for that reason I have decided to motion you for the role of Keeper of the tribe from now on.  Should any otter disagree with my decision please say so now."

Silence followed Keeper's words for a moment before a raging chorus of cheers began congratulating Sambit for winning the role.  Keeper stood down from his position at the head of the table and invited Sambit to take his place.  As the new Keeper took his position a chant demanded a speech chorused out from the others.  He faltered for a moment before thinking of what to say.

“Friends," he began, having to speak over the otters to get them to quieten down.  “It gives me great honour to accept the title of Keeper today.  I would like to thank Jephit for the fantastic race and also congratulate him on his win."  There were more cheers from the troupe.  “I would also like to offer him the position of second when the post becomes available if he'll take it.  If no one else has any objections to that?"

The remaining otters confirmed they had no objections so Jephit accepted the role to a new chorus of cheers.  The current second then got up from his chair.

“Might as well make it official now," he said as he offered his seat next to the top of the table.  “No point in me hanging around in this new era of change."  More raucous applause followed.

“Well," Sambit said with a little surprise as Jephit took his new position.  “Now that that's happened.  I would also like to thank all of you for your support and as Keeper I hope to continue our tradition of making the Otter Post the best it can be and build upon Keeper O'Konor's hard work."

“It's just Carrick now, Keeper," the former leader corrected.  There was a few more chuckles at this.

“You do realise it's going to take me entirely too long to get used to saying that as a routine," Sambit laughed.  “You've done such brilliant work during your time as Keeper you'll always be Keeper O'Konor to me.  In fact, a toast should be declared.  To Keeper O'Konor!"  The sounds of the toast followed before Jephit piped in.

“And a toast to his second,"  There was another chant and the silent sound of drinking.  A cheer followed.

“Right," the new Keeper said to his otters.  “Drink and be merry tonight as tomorrow we have post to deliver!"

“A toast to Keeper Ruddertail and Jephit," called Carrick.  “May the waters flow smoothly and guide you well on your new roles."

The otters partied on into the moonlit hours and were only stopped when the tavern owner kicked them out so he could close for the night.  In their jovial state the troupe went to their respective beds to sleep.  The new day brought a new challenge as Sambit's time as Keeper had begun.