Felka used to walk home from school along the path by the Mill Stream. She liked to count frogs and draw birds in the margins of her notebook. On this day, she sat under an old bridge where the grass smelled wet. The water crinkled quietly and dragonflies flashed their blue wings. The bridge creaked and the shadows of fish hid beneath it. In the distance, a stork could be heard croaking in the meadow. Suddenly, an otter slid out of the rush, with whiskers like wires. It had a wet muzzle and held a yellow stripe in its teeth. Felka recognised her lost glove and smiled. "Are you the one who found it for me? You'll be a Plush." The otter snorted, flicked her tail and swam upwards. Every few metres it emerged with its snout, as if calling out: come and see! Felka ran along the bank, jumping over willow roots and stones. The splash stopped at an overturned boat, pinned against the reeds. On the rope hung a rusty hook and a strange metal plate. A red rope was tied to the side. Something rattled from underneath. Felka crouched down and put her ear to the cold wood. Her fingers immediately became cold and slippery. She heard scratching, a short hiss and a quiet gurgling of water. "Hey, is anyone there?" she asked. A splash touched the boat with a paw. "Easy," she muttered. "I'll count to three and we'll lift." She stuck her fingers under the edge and held her breath. The splash froze until the clumps of water lash stopped rippling. One. Two. At that moment the rope tightened violently. The mud clattered. Someone stood heavily just behind her back.