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Chapter 1: Dollarhide

Abel Bailey nuzzled his wife, Madeline, at the door of their burrow. She held their youngest daughter, Clover, who clung to her mother's fur with wide eyes. Ivey, their oldest, stood nearby, clutching the small wooden trinket Abel had carved for her. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of another departure.


"Be safe, Abel," Madeline whispered, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay strong. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, the same tears she fought back every time he left.

"I will," Abel replied, his voice steady but filled with unspoken promises. He gave each of them a final, lingering nuzzle before adjusting his pack and stepping out into the early morning light. His long gun with the custom scope hung securely over his shoulder, and his blue cap, a symbol of the Marshland otters, was perched firmly on his head. The cap was old, worn from years of service, but it was a treasured piece of his identity.

As he walked the familiar path, the soft earth felt cool under his paws. The early morning mist clung to the marshland, creating an ethereal landscape of shadows and light. Each step took him further from the warmth of his home and closer to the tension of the DMZ. The human footpath, a neutral zone dividing the territories of the Upland Colony and the Free Otters of Marshland, stretched out ahead, flanked by reeds and marshland. Abel moved with practiced caution, his senses keen to any sound or movement.

Reaching his designated spot, Abel settled into his sniper nest, a concealed hollow in the brush that provided an excellent vantage point across the path. The reeds and tall grass offered natural camouflage, and Abel's years of experience made him nearly invisible to any but the most observant eyes.


The first day passed in silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of the reeds as a breeze whispered through the marsh. Abel's eyes scanned the opposite side of the path, always alert for any sign of movement from the Upland otters. The days blurred into a monotonous routine of watchfulness, broken only by the occasional presence of humans and their dogs, whom Abel avoided with expert skill.


On the fifth day of his watch, something unusual caught his eye. Across the path, nestled in a thicket of brush that mirrored his own position, Abel noticed a slight glint—a brief flash that might have been sunlight reflecting off metal. He narrowed his eyes and focused his scope on the spot.


There, barely discernible through the dense foliage, was another sniper. Abel's heart rate quickened, but his hands remained steady. He recognized the telltale signs: the careful arrangement of reeds to break up the outline, the subtle shifts in the brush that indicated someone was there. The other sniper was good—almost as good as Abel.

Abel adjusted his scope, trying to get a clearer view. The opposing sniper was well-hidden, but Abel's trained eyes could make out the faint outline of an otter in the Upland Colony's colors. His mind raced. This was no ordinary sentry; this was someone experienced, someone who had been watching just as intently as Abel.



As Abel observed, the opposing sniper shifted slightly, and for a brief moment, their eyes met through their scopes. It was a fleeting connection, but it spoke volumes. Abel knew that this was not just a random encounter. This was Henry Dollarhide, a legendary sharpshooter from the Upland Colony. Their paths had crossed many times over the years, each time leaving an indelible mark on the other's memory.


For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The marshland around them faded, and it was just Abel and Dollarhide, two skilled marksmen locked in a silent duel of wits and patience. Abel's grip tightened on his rifle, but he did not fire. This was not the moment for a reckless shot.


Both otters remained still, each waiting for the other to make a move. Abel's mind raced through possible scenarios. He knew Dollarhide was calculating the same options. They were evenly matched, and a single mistake could mean the end for either of them.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the path, Abel made a decision. He slowly withdrew his gaze from the scope, careful not to give away his position. The standoff with Dollarhide was far from over, but for now, both snipers seemed to understand that this encounter would not be resolved today.


Abel settled back into his nest, his eyes never leaving the spot where Dollarhide lay hidden. The days of watchfulness and tension would continue, but now, there was a new layer of complexity to the silent war. Abel knew that the next time they met, the outcome could be very different.


As dusk settled over the marsh, the air grew cooler, and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures filled the night. Abel lay back in his nest, his thoughts drifting to his family. He could almost smell the sweet cheeses Madeline had packed for him, a small comfort in the midst of the tension. He reached into his pack and pulled out a small piece, savoring the familiar taste.


The night was long and quiet, punctuated by the occasional rustle of the reeds and the distant sound of water flowing through the marsh. Abel's thoughts kept returning to the encounter with Dollarhide. He wondered what the other sniper was thinking, if he too was reflecting on their long history of near-misses and standoffs.

As dawn approached, Abel's eyes grew heavy. He allowed himself a few moments of rest, his rifle always within reach. The soft light of morning filtered through the reeds, casting a gentle glow over the marsh. Abel's sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps approaching the path—a human and their dog, out for an early walk.

Abel tensed, his senses alert. The human and their dog were harmless, but their presence could draw attention. He watched as they walked down the path, oblivious to the hidden conflict around them. The dog sniffed curiously at the edge of the reeds, but the human called it back, and they continued on their way.


With the danger passed, Abel settled back into his watch. The sun climbed higher, warming the marsh and bringing the day to life. Abel scanned the opposite side of the path, his eyes constantly moving, his mind always alert. The standoff with Dollarhide weighed heavily on him, but he knew he had to stay focused.

Hours passed in silence. The marshland was alive with the sounds of birds and insects, but to Abel, it was just background noise. His attention was solely on the path and the hidden sniper across from him.


In the afternoon, Abel noticed a slight movement in the brush on Dollarhide's side. He focused his scope, trying to get a better view. Dollarhide was shifting position, perhaps to get a better angle or to stretch his cramped muscles. Abel's finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn't fire. He watched, waiting for the right moment.

Dollarhide settled back into his nest, his movements careful and deliberate. Abel could see the determination in his eyes, the same determination that had kept them both alive through countless encounters. There was a grudging respect between them, a recognition of their shared skill and experience.

As the day wore on, Abel's thoughts drifted again to his family. He wondered what Ivey was doing, if Clover was helping Madeline in the garden. The image of his daughters brought a smile to his face, a brief moment of warmth in the cold reality of his duty.

The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the marsh. Abel's eyes remained fixed on the opposite side of the path, his body tense and ready. He knew that the night would bring new challenges, that Dollarhide would be just as vigilant.

As darkness fell, the marsh became a world of shadows and whispers. Abel's keen eyes adjusted to the dim light, his senses heightened. He listened for any sound, any sign that Dollarhide was making a move. The night was a test of patience and skill, a silent battle between two masters.


Hours passed in the darkness. Abel's muscles ached from the constant vigilance, but he didn't let his guard down. He knew that Dollarhide was out there, watching and waiting. The tension was almost unbearable, but Abel held on, his mind focused on the task at hand.

In the early hours of the morning, Abel heard a faint rustle in the reeds. He froze, his heart pounding. The sound was subtle, but it was enough to put him on high alert. He scanned the area, his eyes searching for any sign of movement. Then, he saw it. A faint outline in the brush, a shadow that shouldn't be there. It was Dollarhide, moving slowly and carefully. Abel's breath caught in his throat. This was it. The moment they had both been waiting for.


Abel's finger hovered over the trigger. He could end it now, take the shot and eliminate the threat. But something held him back. He knew that Dollarhide was thinking the same thing, that they were both poised on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

For a moment, time stood still. The marsh was silent, the only sound the beating of Abel's heart. He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on the shadow in the reeds. He knew that this was a battle of wills, a test of who would break first.

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