The otter remained perfectly still while I put his leg in a splint, cleaned out his cuts, and tried to bandage him up. He still bled, though, and cheeped softly when I stood to leave. My heart dropped. If he lived in the water, the wounds would get infected immediately or he’d have to hide on the ground and risk the humanoid cryptid catching him again. I looked at the ATV, then at the otter. I’d started calling him Hopper since he looked really bouncy but also after Grace Hopper, a mathematician and pioneering computer programmer and an overall badass.
I couldn’t leave Hopper there, injured and alone, but with the sun beginning to set, I sure as fuck wasn’t going to hang out with him in the forest on another cryptid’s territory. I eyed Hopper dubiously. “Want to go for a ride, I guess?”
He made a series of clicks and chirps that I took as assent, and I unpacked all the snacks and stuff from the bag and shoved them in every pocket I could find. I limped back to him and put the bag down so I could roll him into it, then zip it most of the way. “Can’t have anyone else seeing you, buddy.”
He made a derisive snort but burrowed into the bag. The whuffling and rustling dispelled some of the intense anxiety that still drove me to move fast, in case the humanoid one returned for his meal. Or a larger one, like me. Something about having a large semi-aquatic puppy behind me made it tough to stay terrified.
I shivered and fired up the ATV to go back to my truck. I’d lost my mind. Two cryptids in one day, completely by accident, and taking one home to patch it up. Nature really didn’t give a fuck at all. About anything.