It was a big rustling forest, tens of kilometres long and wide. Strictly speaking, it didn't rustle all the time as there happened to be days and even weeks when the forest was quiet and silent as if dozing. Nevertheless, most of the time, even on calm days, when the slightest breeze touched the tops of the trees, a slight rustling arose, going through the forest like a deep breath. However, when the wind was just a little stronger, the noise immediately swelled into a superbly wonderful surge that filled the air like the roar of the sea. Then the mighty tops of pines and firs bent like giants' heads and their branches moved like the paws of big animals. And the birches rustled sadly, primevally, as if evoking memories of older times. And the leaves of aspens whispered quickly, quickly, gently but excitedly, as if they had an uncontrollable urge to tell the strange stories of the forest.

When a real storm blew up, the roaring of the forest muffled all the other noises. As if waves were rolling over the treetops, coming from faraway and disappearing into the distance, and then the trees bent deeply—and rose again—and they swayed like living creatures in the endless movement of the wind and storm.

The forest was mighty then and mighty, too, was each single tree. And the forest seemed to be full of secrets.

Of course, the forest is always full of life and secrets, full of bustle and movement, fighting and death of wild animals and birds.

Now we are going to hear one of those tales, a story about an old otter called Udras.

He lived in a riverbank in the midst of a large forested area. It wasn't a big river, being only about a couple of metres wide, a bit less or more here and there, but there were deeper, darker places where there lived large perch, pike and roach. The younger and smaller fish lived mainly in shallower waters and played there in the sunshine and rippling water, whilst the older fish never showed themselves there. Perhaps occasionally a pike hid underneath some waterplants near younger fish and—at the right moment—jumped out from there to attack his prey, a small roach or a bleak. There was a lot of water in deep darker places and it was a lot easier for the big fish to hide there than in shallower sunny waters. And the big fish, too, had a good reason to hide well, as their enemy was Udras, the otter.

Otter is an animal, who lives both on dry land and in the water, but yet more in the water. He swims skilfully like a fish, mainly underwater, too. He has webs between his toes like a goose or a duck and this is why he can swim very quickly. He is 70-80 centimetres long, thus being rather a large animal. He also has a long tail, about 55 cm of it, and this he uses for steering whilst swimming. He cannot breathe underneath the water, for that he has to come to the surface from time to time. His ears cause no trouble underneath the water, as they can be closed by little flaps.

Otters usually live in the embankments of rivers and lakes, where they build themselves a holt, the "door" of which opens underneath the water. Thus he appears in the water from underneath the water and disappears the same way, although his nest is actually in a hollow of the bank on dry land. Apart from fish he uses for food also crayfish, waterbirds, frogs, water-rats and other similar water animals. And yet his favourite food is fish—and mainly big fish, as he doesn't want to waste his time "cleaning" smaller fish. All the more, as he has little time, being such a big eater and very greedy.

So it is understandable that in that river amidst the forest, in the bank of which the old otter Udras lived, the fish were very much afraid of him. Mainly he chased the fish from evening till morning, the night being his hunting time as he can see very well in the dark. But the fish want to sleep in the night; they also can't see as well in the dark as in the daylight—that is why it was much more difficult for them to protect themselves from the otter at night.

Udras hunted fish like dogs hunt rabbits, the only difference being that it took place in the water rather than on dry land. He sought out a big fish and attacked him. If he managed to catch the fish at once, the hunt was over this time and the fish was immediately eaten. When he was hungry Udras picked the flesh more carefully from the bones eating also the worse pieces, whilst, when his appetite wasn't particularly great, he only had the better bits, throwing out the more bony ones. In this way he wasted fish unnecessarily and caused a lot of damage.

If he didn't catch the fish at once, a longer hunt followed normally. In the dark it was much more threatening for the fish than by daylight. In the dark the fish could easily hit himself against some stone, an underwater stump or a reed, he also could find himself in shallow water or even stranded on the sand like a boat out of water. Udras saw better than the fish, besides keeping track was easier also because Udras could get through wherever the fish did; in addition, as he could also walk if necessary, Udras was able to run like a dog in shallow waters and this, too, was to his advantage.

In practice the hunt went back and forth, sometimes for kilometres: the fish in front, Udras behind. The fish knew the river and riverbed from his daily trips and that helped. He knew where there were stones, stumps, reeds and he knew, too, where the shallower and deeper places were. Thus he could look after himself to some extent. However, he couldn't remember all the minute details and thus it happened often that he got dazed after hitting a stone and then Udras could catch him easily.

At times Udras had to keep track of his prey for a long time, even longer than a quarter of or half an hour. After all the otter had to surface for breathing from time to time. This allowed the fish to get further away or to hide. But Udras's good eyes soon discovered the prey again and the hunt started anew—until the fish got tired and couldn't escape any more. Then Udras caught him after all and ate him up with an appetite the better for the longer hunt.

On the other hand, it did happen at times that the fish managed to hide well enough for Udras not to find him, or he could swim quickly enough in places for Udras to lose sight of him. Then Udras had to fast a little, but the greedier he later was.

Udras was the fear and misfortune of fish, he was their death. How well the fish could have lived in this river without him! Tranquil was this corner. People came here seldom. In the middle of the forest, where the river flowed through meadows, there was an open space roughly half a kilometre long and wide. There stood the game-keeper's dwelling with its outhouses. Around the house there were small cultivated patches and a meadow. Then the forest started again—the forest was all around—and through the heart of this forest flowed the river, surrounded by lush meadows. But those hayfields were as far from villages as the forest was and they were not particularly wide—only narrow strips along the river in the midst of the forest.

Many ducks and other birds lived in those riverside meadows, deer came to eat here, even the mighty elk appeared here from time to time, and the lynx sometimes shrilly cried his bloodthirsty call, and the fox, tail like a broom behind, prowled around looking for a rabbit or a duck.

But people came here seldom. The game-keeper was an old man, he didn't like to hunt any more. And he wasn't very keen to fish either. The animals, birds and fish could live without having to worry about him. And they did, indeed. It was a very rare occasion for the lynx to kill a deer or for the fox to kill a rabbit. The forest was big and the lynx came to the river only seldom, and so did the fox. They had plenty to do and there were enough hunting places elsewhere, too. Even in this sense the riverside was a beautiful and peaceful corner for animals and birds. Only the fish had no peace. The otter Udras troubled them all the time, he didn't sleep much, just hunted and fed voraciously.

The old pike Moss-coat, who was the oldest fish in the river, sometimes said, his entire body quivering with anger, to his wife Pike-fin:

"Our kin will soon be wiped out of this river when this beast carries on raving like this. In the old days, I remember, when I was still a young whipper-snapperhow many fish there used to be here! The water was thick with them, my word! One could without any trouble catch a young bream, tench or trout. But where are they now! Where are bream, tench and trout now? Where are carp? All have disappeared into the stomach of this greedy glutton. Perhaps only one or two are still hiding somewhere. Only roach, perch and pike still keep going—you see we aren't tender enough for him, the rascal, the greedy sweet-tooth. There is not one bream left, tench have not been seen for a long time and he even pulled out carp, those lazy inhabitants of mud, by their tails and gobbled them up. Soon the river will be empty and even I, the oldest fish, won't have anything to put behind my teeth. I might even be forced to taste sandeels, who live underneath the stones and chew them, or even sticklebacks! What terrible times have come and they are surely going to get worse! Wai, wai, wai! If only one could find from somewhere a tender young whitefish for a hearty snack! Or at least a small burbot! But even burbots have been polished off by this beast—murderer! Burbots—those poor fellows, whom a sensible fish previously didn't even consider to be one of their kind!"

Lady Pike-fin, the wife of Mr. Pike, who was considerably smaller than her husband, sighed and said:

"You are right. It used to be said that pike were terrible plunderers, demolishing fish in a dreadful fashion. But this is downright unjust. With pike around there have always been more than enough fish. The pike never managed to thin out those roach, bream, bleak and carp, who are said to have lived here in the old days. Apparently it used to crawl with fish here. But since this four-legged glutton appeared, it will mean the end for everybody soon."

"Sure," answered Moss-coat. "Pike don't eat big fish like this toothy water-dog. Pike swallow only small fish. And there are plenty of those everywhere as long as there are big fish. But when the big fish are devoured then there won't be any small ones either, after all the small are the children of the big. I am Moss-coat, yes, I am so big and old that moss is growing on my back, but have I ever eaten fish of my own size or even your size? No! I couldn't eat them as I can only swallow fish whole. But this thief, he bites the biggest fish into smaller pieces with his teeth and gobbles them up. Thus all fish, who don't have enough strength to escape, will fall victim to him. The day may come when even I'll become his food. It may come! Yes! And it is terrifying to think about it!"

Udras had troubled old Moss-coat quite a lot, trying to catch him. But he had not succeeded yet. Not yet! But the otter had sworn to himself that he'd capture the pike one of these days. Indeed, he had even expressed those threats to Moss-coat himself.

Moss-coat was strong and mighty, almost as strong as man. He was nearly the length of a small man, too. And his girth could be compared to a rather thick log. When Udras was troubling him, the pike even attacked the otter hitting him so strongly that Udras had to look how he could get away. But Moss-coat knew (and Udras knew it even better) that should the otter once manage to get onto his back, he would bite through his neck and then Moss-coat would fall victim to Udras like other fish, becoming the otter's meal. An enormous meal, which Udras would nevertheless polish off within a couple of days.

It wasn't seldom that Udras had eaten big fish. Oh, Moss-coat could tell long stories about it.

Once, for example, a sheatfish had come to the river from somewhere. And the sheatfish, a large catfish, is enormous and can grow as big as a horse. This sheatfish, who came to the river, was not yet the size of a horse, as he was still young, but he was surely the size of a calf. And Udras circled and followed the fish until he killed him and then ate him up. The strength and size of the sheatfish were to no avail.

Udras ate loads of large pike, trout, bream, perch, carp and tench. There were indeed only few of them left. Was the old tench Son of the Riverside, for example, not a big fish? Indeed he was like a wonder-beast, perhaps twenty, thirty, even forty years old. He was like a big lump of tender meat and fat, similar to a fattened pig, but what a pig! With brown fins, silvery shining skin, and a broad tail like a spade! A beautiful fish! The pride of the river. Yet Udras caught him from his nest and ate him up within a few days. He wasted a lot of his flesh, too, throwing it around in the river. But the otter could afford to do so, as there was nobody in the river who could have stopped him.

No, the fish had troublesome days. The future was dark. When they, the old venerable pike, perch and roach, gathered somewhere in a sheltered part and discussed the situation, then their voices were full of despair. They deliberated on the topic and looked for measures against this calamity, but they couldn't think of anything definite. And when they got back home, it happened often that on the way one or two of them disappeared—thus the number of old fish had again diminished by one more fellow-sufferer.

The life of crayfish was easier, as they were small and the glutton, the otter, was not as interested in them as in big fish. But from time to time he snatched some of those for a change and ate them together with their shells as he couldn't be bothered to peel them—he was too lazy for that. Those shells didn't harm him either, his teeth were good, everything got ground up between them. He just didn't get a very good taste of crayfish together with those shells and this is why he didn't care much for them.

The crayfish benefitted to some extent from the otter's big meals. When the latter caught a bigger fish, he threw the less tender bits away—and those were very tasty for the crayfish, as they are not particularly choosy about what they eat, and when Udras ate only the back of a pike throwing the rest away then the crayfish even thanked him for it. Only the thanks didn't come from the heart—they could have easily ended up in between the otter's teeth in place of the pike.

Such was the situation in this river in the midst of the forest. The kin of fish became fewer and fewer and their days would have been numbered, if something hadn't happened that changed the matter considerably.

The old forest-keeper died and a new young man replaced him. The new forest-keeper loved hunting and fishing. He laid nets and basket traps into the river and soon found out that there were few fish in the river. Only seldom did he catch something. This surprised him.

"Such a beautiful river," he said to his wife. "It should be good for fish to live in. Many deep places, nice banks, stones, chickweed—everything is there. But what's missing are the fish. Where have they gone? There are plenty of small young fish, but no big ones, at least there are only a few of them."

"Perhaps they are just very clever," thought the wife. "They don't go into nets or basket traps."

"Why should they be so clever here?" laughed the forest-keeper. "Elsewhere I have caught enough of them. But... " the forest-keeper sank into his thoughts. "Perhaps they have indeed for some reason become very careful here... "

"Maybe they are caught a lot," said the wife. "Then it would be understandable that there aren't many of them and that they are cautious."

"I haven't noticed them being caught," replied the forest-keeper. "You see people only rarely here. And I haven't noticed any fishermen."

Yet the forest-keeper had a new idea. He started to pay more attention to the riverbanks and he soon discovered fishbones and other remnants here and there. He also found some peculiar footprints on soft muddy banks, like those of a web-footed bird, only a lot bigger and deeper.

"Aha!" thought the forest-keeper. "This is an otter!"

And he had solved the mystery of fish. He knew now why there were few big fish, but many more smaller ones.

He bought a snare, a metal one, that closed at the slightest touch when set off and from which even a bigger animal couldn't have freed himself.

"Let's see if this fish-thief will get caught," he muttered to himself, setting the catch up where he had seen the footprints of the beast.

But whether the fish-thief was sly and wise enough to avoid the trap or he just didn't happen to come near it, days and even weeks passed without anybody coming into it. Only once did the forest-keeper see the catch closed, and he found a small piece of thin skin with a bit of claw. Perhaps the otter after all had got into the trap, but had managed to struggle loose leaving behind a small piece of his paw. But the piece of skin and the claw were so small that it was impossible to work out to which animal or bird they had belonged to. Perhaps just to a duck?

But what the forest-keeper didn't discover, the otter Udras knew very well. Once he had indeed got caught in the trap, but was so lucky that only the very end of the paw was stuck and he managed to struggle loose, leaving only a small bit of web and a claw behind. It hadn't been much but it was still very painful and it gave him a big fright. He limped for several days and was in a rather depressed mood. Hunting didn't go well and he had difficulties getting his stomach full, all the more as the damaged foot interfered with swimming and walking.

But soon the wound healed and Udras thought that the danger had passed. He was old and he had had to deal with people before. A few of them had been here before, though seldom. The otter had never seen a trap, but his instincts told him this implement belonged to people.

He decided to avoid such things in the future and to keep as far away from them as possible.

Yet, it was by no means the end of this story.

The forest-keeper had a black dog, a big-jawed pointer called Pluto. He started to take the dog to the river too now, not only for hunting but also for fishing. Pluto happened on Udras's tracks quite a few times and he took great interest in them realizing very well that his owner was interested, too. Usually these footprints came out of the water and disappeared back into it, thus Pluto was not able to investigate them much, but once, whilst sniffing below the bank, Pluto heard in the water underneath a quiet bubbling and he caught sight of a dark animal surfacing for a moment, then vanishing again.

Pluto was a bold and decisive dog. With a splash he jumped immediately into the water in the place where the dark beast had disappeared and felt somebody moving underneath his paws. Grasping at it he caught the otter's neck. A struggle ensued, the otter trying with all his might to free himself from the jaws of the dog who didn't want to let go, squeezing ever harder.

As a last resort Udras clutched the dog's paw and bit it painfully. The dog gave a shriek and let go and the otter vanished immediately, as if the water had swallowed him. The dog's wound wasn't at all big, so he did not pay much attention to it, instead he kept looking for the otter everywhere—in the water and on the bank, but he could not find him any more.

The otter had entered his nest, a hollow in the riverbank, through a hole below the waterlevel and he kept himself very quiet there. The dog didn't know the otter was so near, also he couldn't dive as well as to find the hole underneath the water to get into the otter's nest.

The otter had once more escaped with his life, but this incident had been a lot more unpleasant than the adventure with the snare. His neck was sore and bleeding as the dog's jaws and teeth had been very strong. The otter also knew instinctively that this beast, the dog, having come here once, wouldn't leave him in peace in the future either. Udras had noticed a man with the dog and the otter foresaw more danger from him than from the dog.

Udras felt for many days the pain in his neck, which was a lot worse than that in the foot had been, and catching fish was more difficult, too. Once again he had to get by with little food and even go hungry at times. And some new danger could have threatened him at any time. This all was extremely unpleasant.

Soon, indeed, something happened again that totally destroyed the otter's wellbeing and forced him to take a resolute change in his life.

Once, sitting on the riverbank and eating fish, Udras suddenly heard a bang and immediately after felt a painful sting in his neck. He quickly dived into the water leaving the half-eaten fish behind and hid underneath the roots of an alder tree. Soon the dog and the man were on the spot and the dog started to look for the otter. It was quite a genuine lengthy hunt. The dog smelt the otter somewhere nearby, but as the latter was underneath the water the dog didn't know where to look for him. But soon the otter's head rose carefully above the water to catch a breath of air and the dog saw it. Pluto jumped forcefully, but the otter had quickly moved away underneath the water, having experienced the dog's behaviour before. Luckily the water was rather deep nearby thus enabling him to move off unseen. But both the dog and the man kept their eyes on the surface, and the dog attacked him again as soon as the otter's head popped up somewhere else. There were a couple of more bangs from the gun, too, but they didn't hit him.

Eventually the otter managed to get near his hiding place and he disappeared there. There the dog lost his scent, but this experience had been far more frightening for the otter than the previous ones. There was a new wound in his neck and this time it was particularly painful. It was a wound made by pellets. It wasn't going to kill him as only one or two pellets and not the entire charge had hit him, nevertheless it was painful and uncomfortable, every movement causing even more pain.

The otter sat in his burrow and felt with great fear that in this river his life was seriously in danger. And he felt, too, that he had to leave. All the more so as the food got scarcer by the day, as he had been busy for years destroying it. Still, concerning the food Udras could have lived there for a while yet, but he was seriously afraid to leave his nest now. His main hunting time was at night, but now he was worried at night, too. Of course it had been careless of him to start hunting also during the day, but he had been so used to it that it didn't occur to him to change this habit even after the arrival of danger. Now he did realize that he had been wrong, but the accidents had already happened and because of it his fear was great now.

Of course he could not think about it as clearly as a human being. However, he felt the danger and his fear was so great that it made him leave this area.

He sat in his burrow until the night came and then entered the water carefully. His neck was still very painful and he was ravenous. But he was so frightened that he didn't dare to hunt for fish here any more. Of course, he did not know whether dogs could see at night or not; he had at least an inkling that people didn't see too well at night. This instinct he had inherited from his parents and they again from their parents. Over a long period of time otters had experienced how people behaved in the dark. But dogs hadn't hunted otters, neither alone nor with people, in former times, at least not often. Thus Udras did not have any idea about the ability of dogs to see at night.

Very carefully and quietly he started to swim down the river, surfacing to breathe from time to time in the shelter of the bank or bushes. Where was he going? He did not know it himself yet. Only away, away from this dangerous place where he was hunted and pestered, bitten and wounded.

Further down the river became wider and deeper. There were probably more fish to be found here, but because of the water being deeper and wider it was also much more difficult to catch them. All that Udras knew from earlier times. He had explored the entire length of this river before settling down near the forest-keeper's house, where the river had been until now most favourable. Higher up the river was already too narrow and shallow so that bigger fish did not live there. The river started from several streams, emerging from the depth of the forest, which in their turn started from the swamp and springs. Thus Udras couldn't have hoped to catch much higher up the river, but further down there was a greater chance. Yet, as mentioned, it was much more difficult to catch fish there than near the forest-keeper's house. And this is why Udras hadn't settled there before, but now trouble forced him to go there.

Having come rather a long way from the forest-keeper's house, Udras summoned the courage to hunt. He chose a big pike who was lying in deep water underneath the bushes, asleep. Udras jumped suddenly to attack this pike, pushing hard with his hindlegs and opening his mouth wide. But the pike was quick enough to jump aside. A great commotion arose. And then the hunt, started. Hunger and the pain in the neck made Udras especially eager, but at the same time weakening him more quickly than usual. After a long chase he still did not catch the pike who disappeared somewhere into the reeds and Udras could not find him any more. This was a bitter blow and Udras was convinced once more that his good days in this river had gone and he had to move somewhere else to get food and escape danger. But where?

In a sad mood he started to idle around along the riverbed hoping to find crayfish underneath the stones or to catch at least a frog, who used to sit on stones at night diving into the water when the otter approached. He had more luck with crayfish whom he could catch easily. But was this proper food at difficult times? Did it satisfy the heart and stomach? And a frog—this was rather a disgusting snack even for the otter. He ate them only in case of dire need—and now this need had arisen.

In the morning twilight Udras succeeded in catching a roach who had gone into the shallows to eat waterweed. By chance rather than skill. He had been lucky. Such things happened seldom but any other day he wouldn't have much valued such luck.

Having had a snack and feeling more energetic again, Udras considered where to go now. He did not want to stay in the river, he feared the river and he could not hope to catch much food here.

Udras dimly remembered when coming here as a young otter, together with his mother, they had passed through a large forest—not in the water, but on dry land—and on this journey they had seen a big lake somewhere and had even swum in it before coming into the river. Why his mother had not settled in the lake, Udras did not know or remember. Perhaps his mother had not liked the water of that lake and had gone on until they found the river. It is generally known that otters prefer to live in rivers rather than lakes. They like running water and particularly the high banks hollowed and scoured out by the current more than the stagnant water and shallow shores where it is difficult to find a good hiding place. It is possible that Udras's mother could not find a good residence in the lake that Udras now remembered and that might have been one of the reasons why she did not settle in the lake.

Udras of course did not remember all that any more, he only knew the direction where he had come from, he also remembered that somewhere in the forest there had been a large body of water with a lot of fish and no other otters. Udras had no idea how the situation had been there with accommodation. And it didn't interest him now either, or more to the point—he didn't come to the idea to think about it. He was interested in a new place where he could find food, and secondly he wanted to get away from this river as quickly as possible.

His mother had died in a rather mysterious way. One time she had left the river to prowl round on the banks, but had never returned. Where she went, Udras never found out. He was still young then and without regard to such matters. And as life in the river was good, he did not take this event too seriously.

Probably Udras's mother had ended up in between the jaws of a lynx after leaving the river. The lynx came to prowl round on the riverbank from time to time and he is the kind of animal who does not have mercy on anyone weaker than himself. And despite having good teeth, the otter is a dwarf compared with the lynx and the lynx's teeth are to an otter as the cat's are to a mouse.

This all was in the past and did not bother Udras any longer. More correctly, he couldn't even remember it any longer. He only remembered that he had come through the forest with his mother and that somewhere in the forest there had been a lake. But the journey through the forest had been difficult and agonizing as there had been no food and otters don't find it easy to walk a long way on webbed feet.

Udras realized all that when he prepared himself for the journey. It wasn't going to be child's play. He was wounded, he hadn't had enough to eat lately and his mood was bad, yet he also knew that he just had to go if he didn't want, to get into an even worse situation.

Despite being a nocturnal animal, who liked to move and hunt more at night than by day, he nevertheless decided to undertake this journey during the day. He too feared night more than day. In the water, of course, it wouldn't have been like this. But in the forest it was a different matter. The forest was unknown, strange, frightening. In the forest it wasn't as easy to move and hide as in the water. Every step in the forest was troublesome. Of course he saw as well at night as during the daytime, yet he had to consider that at night there were going to be more dangers and because of that the need to hide or perhaps even to bolt might be greater than during the day. That would have made the walk longer and more difficult.

To be continued in Part 2...

Jacob Baranski

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