Chorus Skating Read Free

back and resting his head on his arms, Jon-Tom stared at the water. “It’s a good life.”
    Ten inconsequential minutes melted away, whereupon he looked to his left and inquired, “Does this mean that you’re as bored as I am?”
    â€œMore so, mate. Infinitely more so.” With a quick twist of his hips the otter sat up straight and gazed sharply at his friend. “Which ain’t to say that I’m ready to take off with you on one o’ your notoriously crack-brained an’ life-threatenin’ attempts to save the world. I got a family to look after now, I do.”
    â€œI wasn’t suggesting anything,” Jon-Tom demurred. “I was just saying that I was bored, and you agreed with me.”
    Mudge relaxed but remained wary. “That’s right. Just bored. Not newly suicidal.” Several more minutes went the way of their immediate predecessors. “You, uh, you ain’t by chance been plannin’ somethin’, ’ave you?”
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œCertainly I’m sure.”
    â€œGlad to ’ear it.” The otter resumed his resting position.
    â€œYou know,” Jon-Tom avowed after more time had passed, “you’re getting white around your muzzle.”
    The otter snorted at him even as he reached up reflexively to feel of his whiskery snout. “Wot d’you mean, white? Least I don’t ’ave to worry about losing wot remainin’ fur I’ve got.”
    Jon-Tom felt of his thinning forehead which, like a retreating glacier, had begun shrinking back several years ago.
    â€œWhat are you saying? Is it getting worse?”
    â€œI don’t figure it, mate. If it bothers you so much, why not just throw together a simple spellsong an’ restore yourself to your favored condition o’ juvenile hirsuteness?”
    The spellsinger turned sullen. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? There are plenty of songs that deal with hair, but neither traditional lyrics nor inventions of my own do any good. Receding hair seems to be one of the few things that’s utterly resistant to sorcery. There’s a lesson to be learned there, I’m sure, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what it is.
    â€œThough he decried the triviality of it, even Clothahump gave it a shot, and failed. It’s a fine twist of fate in a cruel universe.”
    â€œOne that don’t trouble me,” the otter remarked. “I’m quite indifferent to such matters, I am.” White? His muzzle couldn’t be turning white !
    â€œIt’s not like the old days,” Jon-Tom sighed. “Responsibilities, respectability …”
    â€œWatch your language, mate.”
    â€œEverything slows down … though there are days and nights when I feel as energetic as ever. It’s all been traded for experience.” He briefly considered time as a helix of semi-iridescent fish. “Anyway, life is peaceful and composed. No one’s come galloping in search of Clothahump’s help to assuage some great crisis or travail.”
    â€œOi,” agreed Mudge. “Life is rewardin’ as it is. An’ as for meself, I’m content, I am. Why, I wouldn’t go off pursuin’ some new trouble even if one ’opped up and bit me on the arse. I’ve already used up me nine lives, I ’ave.”
    â€œThose are cats. You’re an otter.”
    â€œDon’t interrupt, mate. Wot I’m sayin’ is I ain’t riskin’ me life no more. Certainly not to ’elp bail you out o’ difficulties an’ situations you bloody well create for yourself.”
    â€œ You bail me out? Now there’s an amusing conceit. I can’t remember how many times I’ve saved your fuzzy ass from your blind impetuousness, your rash decisions, and your reckless disregard for the safety of everyone and anyone unfortunate enough to be in your