Early the next morning, Chip donned his favorite blue floral shirt, tucked his work cap into his rucksack and made his bed. The only fastidious, clean otter in the entire house, Chip reveled in having an ordely living area. Otter breakfasts were a more sedated version of Otter dinners, but no less filled with love. "Chip!" his father, Stone said, "Say hello to the girls, would you?" "Hello, Stabitha," Chip waved to Stone's two swords, "Hi Slashley, you both look sharp this morning." Stone guffawed as he placed the swords one at a time, Stabitha first into their respective sheathes. For months now, Stone had been telling the family to respect Stabitha, and honor Slashley, and Chip was one hundred percent certain that he'd been waiting for an opportunity. Any opportunity for someone to ask the retired mercenary, 'Why are they called Stabitha and Slashley?'. Chip was certain that Stone had a prepared remark just brewing at all times and he was not going to give his father the satisfaction, and as part of an unspoken agreement, the rest of the family had all silently gone along with it. Similarly, Chip had agreed with his father on the whole hierarchy bit, but he would go to his grave it he ever told the otter. Wrapping up breakfast, Uncle Brit and Chip got ready to trek back to the town. "I'm coming with yas, today right, Brit? I'll pop on over and help you with getting some ingredients, right?" He stood to his full height eyeing both of them. "Yes, that would be great," Chip said, "I think it would be faster if both of us did the bazaars at the same time, going in both directions." "Chip, I think that's a great idea," Brit said, "I'm going to see if I can learn a bit more about the blastfurnace. I've got an idea for some otter pops that might do well over those coals they have." Aunt Carol came into the kitchen with two arms full of fishes in baskets. "I got all that I could get for you boys," she said, "You told me that these little guys were selling better to the foxes?" Aunt Carol showed a small catfish to the three of them. A lot of the rest of the fishes she had were greylings or perch. "Yeah most of the foxes don't like these catfish, but there's always a couple," Brit said. Chip got out his yoke from next to the door, preparing to carry the baskets back to the Yellowrock mesa. Stone and Brit placed the baskets securely on his shoulders at the same time. "Ready?" the young otter said to his parents. "Let's move out," Stone and Brit said.