"This is going well," Sam said. She clapped Chip’s shoulders, giving him a firm shake as if to dispel his anxiety. "Chip, you've got this."

Chip waved an arm in a weak salute. Any moment now, Sela would show up with the ka-pi. That would serve to invigorate them, and then Sela would use his break to show off some moves, drawing in customers, starting a chain reaction.

It was more than an hour and a half into the four-hour contest, and there was no Sela in sight.

The line had grown short, only three rabbits and one fox waiting to buy from Mr. Steal Your Pearl. Chip was still wary to send anyone away to get refreshments. Uncle Brit kept the customers happy and took their orders, while Sam recommended spices and handled crowd control. She was also trying her best to sell, sell, sell.

Chip popped off the last three pieces and turned to his washing.

Scrub. Scrub.

With no outstanding orders, he could dig into the tins that needed to be washed. Uncle Brit usually helped, but after a moment scrubbing alone, Chip looked up.

Alarmed, he leaned over to see Uncle Brit trying to talk to a lizard with a severe underbite. Behind them, Sela seemed to be fully engaged in bodyguard work, keeping an eye on everyone around his well-to-do companion. The regal-looking yellow lizard had brilliant purple robes, and the only piece of adornment besides her cloak was a jeweled clasp above her breast. As she came closer to the stand, Chip could see that the clasp was in the shape of the dragon god of death, Miru.

It was rare to see one of the reptile cult of Miru. Supposedly they ruled over a swampland far to the south of Yellowrock, but they didn't take out contracts with the Riverfolk, meaning most otters only ever heard of them in stories. It had never stuck Chip as strange, but now he realized that an otter would stick out like a sore thumb in their country.

"Well, I guess Sela can't take off from his... Ambassador," Sam said, stepping up behind him with a hug.

"We're going to need to do it all without a break then, huh?" Chip replied, squeezing her paw.

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"We can do it. We just need to dig deep down."

***

Chip returned to the grill just as a gaggle of foxes came over. Their noses had led them to the stand. Chip would have them paying out those snorty snoots.

“Five fishes!” Uncle Brit yelled over the bustle of the crowd. “Two savory Britpops!”

“Five fish, two savory pops, gotcha.”

Chip could feel Sela moving away with his charge. He got a whiff of the poor otter feeling… was that sorry? It was something.

Chip started passing the sticks through, turning the fish on the grill. His uncle’s idea was to sell them cooked in a line as such because the cooking time was short, and foxes ate them eagerly. Otters appreciated it as well, and usually all the working mercenaries dropped in.

Chip handed over the final order for the den of foxes in front of the stand, and grabbed another box of skewers.

Well if Sela wouldn’t make it, at least perhaps River would? Her presence was muted in the back of his mind, but she felt worried. As if she was tending to something and it wasn’t going well. It was strange to imagine the calm, cool and collected druid fretting, but perhaps she just hid it well. She probably wouldn’t bat an eye at the reptile cultists.

“Four sweet, one savory, all vegetarian!”

Uncle Brit was holding court with some mice. Chip focused on the task. He had more savory ready from the last order, so he passed one to Sam. Sam ran it up as Chip popped another fish-shaped pastry onto the flames .

***

Chip dug down deep and hadn’t looked up for a bit until Sam squealed.

“Chip! A big group of otters are coming! Wipe that mean mug off your face!”

About forty otters were moving in clumps through the packed festival crowd, all headed with intent towards Mr. Steal Your Pearl. Uncle Brit brightened.

“I may have to start calling these Otterpops now instead of Britpops. Especially if the otter contingent gives us the advantage,” he said. “Especially if they give us the win.”

Chip drew in a sharp breath and he knew. In that moment, he knew that for all of his preparation, everything that it had taken to get here, he was satisfied to do his best. Winning the contest didn’t mean anything, because after all he’d gained in his new raft, his new friends… what was a contest to all of that?

He grinned, satisfied, and took more orders.

His infectious good mood spread to Sam, who smiled back. Even Uncle Brit was grinning by the time they were mired in orders from the various otter rafts.

Chip looked to his supplies and saw that they were getting low. That would be a good sign, surely. They'd sold and sold, but never sold out.

That day, not a half hour later, they sold out for the first time, ever.

Nothing was spared. Chip almost sold the tins, before his Uncle stopped him. With nothing to sell, the otters cleaned up before the final tally. A fox came by to collect their numbers and their marbles for the buyers’ choice.

Arm in arm, they waited to hear how they did.