Secret Society by Trevor Meyer

The yellow otters are on a dragon hunt. Hoot, hoot was the brown dragon's cry. Searching in their green vehicle of joy and lax, they race for the indigo sky. The yellow pirate otters recently quit living in the gray preamble and entered the white climax. Heading towards the red and black epilogue they venture on in hopes of excitement. The orange sun was rising, in the abyss now turned pink, and they took their green rover in a golden direction. Golden was different, it shimmered it shone, the yellow pirate otters wanted badly to reach it. The silver inside them, metallic and glorious, was heated and heated. It melted, it boiled, it oozed from their pores. The figurative silver would be silver no more. It raced out ahead of the bodies of the yellow otter clan, so far that they could no longer see it. They sat and they waited for the silver to return. At least a good hour they knew they had wasted, they could wait no longer, so they all stood and chased it.