The Ferry Otter

Wren was an otter, and running the ferry was her job.

The ferry was a flat wooden raft tied to a rope that stretched across the widest part of the stream. Every morning Wren untied the raft and began carrying animals from one bank to the other: the geese who went to the far meadow every day, the badgers who had market stalls on the west bank, the squirrels who gathered nuts on the other side, the elderly tortoise who made the journey each week to visit her sister and always brought biscuits.

Wren was a good ferrymaid. She was steady with the pole and she kept the raft level and she never complained, even when the geese took a long time deciding which side to stand on.

By late afternoon, the light was going amber and Wren had made the crossing eleven times. Her arms were pleasantly tired. She tied up the raft and stretched and thought about her supper.

Then she heard someone on the far bank.

She looked. It was a small brown mouse in a large coat, sitting on a stone at the water's edge, looking at the stream with an expression that was trying very hard not to look worried.

Wren stood and looked at the mouse. The mouse looked back.

"Have I missed the last crossing?" called the mouse.

Wren thought about her supper. She thought about her tired arms. She thought about the warm lamp in her house just upstream.

"Not quite," she called back.

She untied the raft and pushed off from the bank, working her pole through the still evening water. The crossing was gentle at this hour — the stream had slowed, the light lay flat and gold on the surface.

The mouse climbed on board and sat very quietly, holding her coat together with both paws.

"Thank you," she said, when they reached the far side. "I have been sitting there since noon, not wanting to shout."

"You should have shouted," said Wren, smiling. "That's what the shouting is for."

She poled back across alone as the last of the light faded. The water was dark and soft around her and the stars were just beginning to show, and she felt — she realised — not tired at all. Or if she was tired, it was the good kind. The kind that meant she had done everything the day asked of her.

She tied up the raft, put down her pole, and went home to her supper.