Pip Snuff tiptoes into the nursery. Thump. Thump. Thump. Baby otter bounces on the mattress, paws splatting, eyes stretched wide.
She sets her little lamp on the rocking chair. Thump. Thump. Thump. She squints. Something's going wrong, she thinks.
She sniffs under the blanket. Nothing. Sniffs behind the toy bear. Nothing. She tilts her head. Not there.
She sniffs the stuffed teapot on the shelf. Tick. Tick. Tick. Her nose twitches. She pulls it close.
She pries open the stuffed teapot. Out pops a tiny wind-up key, smaller than a fingernail. Tick. Tick. Tick. Still going.
She blinks. Ears flat. She gently unwinds the little key. Tick… tick… …silence.
She tucks baby otter in and pulls the quilt to her chin. She hums—low and round. The lamplight sways on the wall. One paw uncurls. Two. Three.
Baby otter's long dark lashes press against her cheeks. She breathes slow. Pip carries the empty teapot back to the shelf. The nursery holds its breath. Creak.