Foxes eating dinner was a refined affair, to Chip’s understanding. Even at lunch, they had handkerchiefs at the ready, and they took great care not to let the drip sauces on their working garb.

Otters eating dinner was an all-out food fight. Every time. The eight people in the raft that Chip called his family – two raft brothers younger than him, his auntie, mother, father and uncle, and his elder sister – all converged on the table at the same time. It was easier to feed all eight people at once rather than two or three at a time. Otter kitchens and dining rooms tended to be the heart of the house, warm and welcoming. Chip had heard that beavers did it the same way.

His father was waiting near the door when he and Uncle Brit returned home, with a peck on the cheek for Brit and an embrace for Chip. “How was it?”

"It was great, Dad," Chip said, hugging him back. "How's Mom and Auntie Carol?"

"Well, Auntie Carol ran into one of the beavers today. I’m telling you, those flat-tailed snobs wouldn’t know a healthy relationship if it bit them in the-”

“Dad,” Chip interrupted. He knew it was best to head him off before he could build up a head of steam. Stone felt very strongly that beavers did most things wrong, not least of all relationships.

Stone grumbled but subsided with a sigh. "Anyway, since I've been retired now for a month, your auntie brought this beaver back here for tea and I got to talking to her."

“Dad.”

“They call their rafts floats! What, as if there isn’t a perfectly good word already?”

"It's like you never met a beaver you could trust." They had come to the porch, and Chip paused to admire the sight of the sun setting over Yellowrock mesa to the west. He could hear the clank of dishes being placed on the table inside.

"I trust your mother, and Carol," Stone said.

"Hey, leave mom and Aunt Carol out of this. They’ve only ever been good to you and me."

Aunt Carol’s voice rang out in the still evening, calling everyone to dinner. After some playful tussling, each otter in the raft got to eat their fill. As Stone and Brit cleared the table of empty plates, Aunt Carol turned her attention to Chip.

"So, Chip, I heard that you might enter a contest of some sort?" Aunt Carol said. She worked as one of the merchant middle management for the Riverfolk Mercenary Company and Community Trust, and often complained that nothing exciting ever happened there.

"That's right, with the new recipe.”

"Winning a mercantile contest would be good for you, I think. It would set you up to be a merchant instead of one of the regular mercenaries," she said.

"Well, at least they guarantee a job," Chip said, "but the next step is to figure out which spices to use to win. We need to fix the sauce so it appeals to more than just otters and foxes. I don't know if I should head to the indoor bazaar or the bazaar on the top of the mesa, but also we need to make sure that we're getting the best fish for these foxes. What do you think, Auntie?"

"Well, your father is out of work and he just spends all day sharpening his swords, So." Ask him, she mouthed.

Chip nodded.

"With three of you, you could split the efforts. I could look for the best fish, if you figure out what you want?"

"Thanks," Chip said, "I'll get back to you on that. This means I might have to go to the indoor bazaar as well as the one on top. If you get some good fish, bring it to dinner tomorrow? I need to zero in on the foxes’ palettes." Chip scratched his head, brow furrowing. "I feel like there's something I'm missing, though."

Early the next morning, Chip donned his favorite blue floral shirt, tucked his work cap into his rucksack, and made his bed. He was the most fastidious otter in the entire house and reveled in having an orderly living area. It gave him some calm before the early-morning chaos. Otter breakfasts were a slightly more sedate version of otter dinners, but no less filled with love.

"Chip!" Stone was sat at the table when he arrived, polishing rag in hand. "Say hello to the girls, would you?"

"Hello, Stabitha." Chip waved to Stone's two swords. "Hi Slashley, you both look sharp this morning."

Stone guffawed as he replaced the swords in their sheathes.

For months now, Stone had been telling the family to respect Stabitha, and honor Slashley, and Chip was one hundred percent certain that he'd been waiting for an opportunity, any opportunity, for someone to ask the retired mercenary, 'Why are they called Stabitha and Slashley?' No doubt he had some clever explanation prepared, but Chip was not going to give his father the satisfaction, and by unspoken agreement, the rest of the family had followed suit.

Wrapping up breakfast, Uncle Brit and Chip got ready to trek back to the town. Stone peered at their packs, whiskers twitching curiously. "I'm coming with ya today, right Brit? I'll pop on over and help you with getting some ingredients, right?"

"Yes, that would be great," Chip said. "I think it would be faster if both of us did the bazaars at the same time, one each."

"Chip, I think that's a great idea," Brit said. "I'm going to see if I can learn a bit more about the blast furnaces. I've got an idea for some otter pops that might do well over those coals they have."

Stolen story; please report.

Aunt Carol emerged from the pantry with a basket on each arm."I got all that I could for you boys," she said. "You told me that these little guys were selling better to the foxes?"

Aunt Carol showed a small catfish to the three of them. Most of the rest were greylings or perch.

"Yeah, most of the foxes do like these catfish, but there's always a couple," Brit said.

Chip got out his yoke from beside the door, preparing to carry everything back to the Yellowrock mesa. Stone and Brit placed the baskets securely on his shoulders at the same time, perfectly balanced.

"Ready?" the young otter said to his parents.

"Let's get going," Stone said.

Chip rucked the whole way into town, carrying all their supplies in his pack.

"You know Aunt Carol must have gotten like two stones worth of fish," Chip said.

"Har de dar," Stone said. "She paid four clams for the lot."

'I'm not kidding," Chip said as they began to climb the inner steps to the top of the mesa. Five floors, one hundred steps, and Chip was about to feel the wrath of what four clams could buy. Luckily he only had to bring it to the central pulley system, rather than hauling it all the way to Yellowrock’s peak. "I think that if we have to sell this much, I'm going to get pretty strong by the end of the festival." A bead of sweat rolled down his face, catching on his whiskers before it dropped to the ground.

Clearing the hundredth step and reemerging into the sunlight, Chip was greeted by the most handsome otter he'd ever seen. He couldn’t be more than a year older than Chip, but he was all coiled muscle and sleek fur. His uniform looked tailored to his specifications, even the belt fashionably scuffed. He radiated confidence, and broke into a broad smile as he spotted Chip.

"Hey, fish daddy," the otter said, "you got any good ones today?"

Chip hoped his dads couldn’t see how he turned bright red. "You can come and take a look when we serve lunch."

"I'll be there. I hope you make mine," he scrunched his face, "spicy."

Chip almost shivered at the dry wine of the otter’s voice, squeaking out an agreement as he departed. In front of him, Stone and Brit exchanged a knowing glance.

"First time?" Brit said.

"First time for what?" Chip said. He took a second to get into position beside the cart and slowly lowered himself to the ground, until the baskets sat up on their own. Standing, he stretched and then jumped a bit.

"Don't be dense, nephew," Brit said, slapping him right where he'd been carrying the yoke.

"He was hitting on you, son," Stone said.

"Oh," Chip said. "OH!"

Stone and Brit both shook their heads and then began unpacking.

“With your father here to help me prep, I need you to go get me a sampler of the spices they have up here," Brit said. He tossed the eager young otter two clams. "Don't spend anything you don't have to, but we need to try both savory and sweet."

"And wouldn't it be sweet if Chip could bring an otter, like that mercenary home? And something spicy too, it sounds like," Stone said. "I wonder if that mercenary's ever thought of starting a raft, hmm?"

Stone and Brit looked at Chip as if to spur him on to movement. Chip decided discretion was the better part of valor, and got moving.

There were four stands that sold miscellaneous merchandise, including spices. The farthest shop was right next to the stairwell, and Chip resolved to start there first, work his way back to the cart. He was barely paying attention as he turned a corner and gasped. The other otter - the one who called him ‘fish daddy’ - was loitering around. Was he loitering? He was probably at work already. Was his job to monitor the bazaar? Chip didn't know. He pulled back, hiding around a stall.

"He didn't see you," said an angelic voice."You're safe."

Chip swung his head around and then looked up to see a female otter on a little stand. She climbed down the ladder and took up a position next to him, hiding behind the canvas wall.

"Name’s Sam," she said. "You're checking out the hot boy over there too, huh?" Her voice was so sweet that he didn't realize that he was staring right at her.

"No… uh, yes... uh, I mean," Chip stammered, "could we start this again?"

Chip held out his hand.

"Wow, one sentence, that is a new record," she said. "If you're going after him, you gotta keep your cool."

She wore a junior merchant’s garb, so she had to be around Chip’s age, and she had a blue hair bow which indicated that she was being tested. "You're being evaluated to be a merchant?" he said, incredulity slipping into his voice.

"I am."

Once otters came of age, they were required to do service for the Company, with the rare exceptions of druids or rangers. Most became mercenaries, but a very small but significant minority became the merchants who wrote the contracts for the Riverfolk Mercenary Company and Community Trust. The norm was ten years of service before an otter retired to do other things. One could vie for a spot in the merchants by announcing their intention when they became eleven, and then they were tried and tested until the end of winter on their twelfth year.

Chip had always assumed that he would become a mercenary. The harvest was ending for the season, and the contracts were changing, more and more of the mercenaries taking leave time to be with their rafts.

"So who is this hot boy, and can we meet him?" Chip said, turning to look around the corner.

"I don't know his name, he just got stationed here yesterday," Sam said. "Do you know anything?"

Chip blushed. "He said he would come by my cart for lunch."

"Ah! You sell....?" she said.

"I sell fish-on-a-stick," he said, noticing finally that she too wore an apron. The lettering on the apron read 'Try our new sweet isekai sauce.'

"You sell spices and sauces?" he said.

She nodded.

Sam stood up and grabbed Chip’s arm. "Hey," she said, "I think he's doing his rounds, because he just disappeared."

"Well, I guess, are you going to help me find out his name?" Chip peered over the canvas, feeling some odd mix of relieved and disappointed to see that the mercenary was gone. "Okay, merchant apprentice-"

"Sam!"

"Okay, Sam, maybe we could go to your shop first? Do you have a good vantage point from there?" Chip looked around for a shop that matched the aesthetic of her apron.

Sam pointed to the nearby stand she'd climbed down from. Shelving inlaid on the opposing wall held a variety of spices, and sauces dotted the lower shelves.

"She used to be a tree, until one of my dads carved her out. It's been something that the Coalition let us use frequently," Sam said.

"It looks like you've got all kinds of sauces," Chip said, eyeing the display of the sweet isekai sauce.

"Now I could 'give' you a free sample," she said, "but I would also need a favor from you."

Chip blinked. Was she trying to get one over on him? "Is this some sort of deal?"

"It's a great offer."

“Do I get to know my part of the deal?"

"Well, Chip, I want the first crack at the guard," she said.

Without a second’s hesitation, Chip put a paw out. "Done. I don't even care about him right now. I have a contest to win. Now let me taste your sauces."

Sam embraced his paw.

"Well, it doesn't take much for you to give up your dream," she said, smirking.

"That boy is a daydream, but I've got goals, Sam, try to keep up."

Sam grabbed a spoon.

"Now, this first one is going to make you feel like you've woken up in a new world."

"I know we're joking about that hot guard, but this isn't going to knock me out or something?"

She dipped the spoon into the sauce jar.

"Close your eyes and open your mouth, fish daddy."