The river was refreshingly cold to the approaching summer heat. The band of otters new the river like their own hands, every knock and every bend it took was known to them. Few things went by their methodical vigilance of it, few still was any beast wanting to harm another along it's banks or on the River Moss itself.

Ever so often one would see the glinting as an otter surfaced for air before falling back into line on their journey. Skipper Grug was making decent time, they might make it to the Abbey with three dawns of the sun.

Something odd was present though in this particular neck of the river. It was strangely quite, and stranger still was the occupant of the bank. One of the leading scouts relayed the message to Skipper, he was mighty doubtful of the claim of a pale adder along the bank. Never the less he passed the news on and the tribe armed themselfs, one couldn't under estimate such frightening beast.

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