Going along his way, Eight's pace had made a big change from earlier on in the day. His paws slowed now, seemingly on their own as the day began to wane away into nothing. His pace was at a steady and meandering walk now as he trailed on, stopping once in a while to make sure he had his bearings.
"There's a trick to traveling but having no destination," Eight muttered to himself, his mild souther drawl coming through "see, y'have to make sure ya pick a direction and stick with it..." Traveling alone for long enough with little interaction can take its toll on you without realizing.
The day was getting late and he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, which was wearing off, as squirrel typically tends to do, being such a small meal. He considered to himself that within an hour it may be a good idea to find a place to lie for the evening, all the while still humming to himself and checking his surroundings, The trees around him thinned out and faded with the sun, he was apparently nearing the edge of the thick wilderness he's been traveling through all day. A very welcome change. The chirp of birds became more audible as he neared the edge of the forrest, there were more of them here, just chattering up a storm, a sharp contrast to the silence he'd become acustom to. Aside from the birds, he noticed that the pine needles and leaves were becoming more scarce on the ground where they had once been littered under his paws. The dirt here was also more sandy. He stopped to consider it for a moment, his ears perking and dropping with his varying facial expressions. He shifted the ground for a moment with his paw, scratching at it here or there. This could be the edge of a new territory, the terrain so far is different from anything he'd seen. His eyes scanned around before him as he started to walk again, keeping a watchful eye for any predators or even another pack whos territory he may be intruding upon. With this new prospect he had a few options to consider. He didn't want to present himself as a threat, but he didn't want to be jumped by some mountain cat either.
He tried pushing this from his mind til he found a place to sleep for the night, If his hunch was correct, It would soon be an importance to stay unseen during the nocturnal hours.
Continuing onward at a more hurried pace, Eight stopped at a sight he hadn't seen in days. A trail. He immediately headed away from it and stopped among some bushes and thick trees as to remain unseen. He scanned along for a breif moment.
A trail means activity. And activity means that something in the area travels here daily. A trail like this through the sparse parts of the woods and not through the thick almost certainly meant humans. And that means...
His thought process was suddenly interrupted by familiar scents - Smoke. Fire. Food. He knew where he was, a camp resort. Most would consider this a place to avoid or go around. Most would consider this dangerous. But Eight did not.
Eight was, among his many traits, an opportunist. His stommach needed to be filled and people had food. He'd have to skip some sleep to rummage through some garbage, but his brain didn't have much say in the matter. He was hungry, and that was that.
He scouted around a little, found a few promising sites, waiting til dark. Once the people are asleep, it should be easy pickings - and the smell of chicken is definite.
After an hour or so he headed into one of the camps, around a few tents, around the embers still barely burning in a fire ring, giving off a very mild warmth. Making sure to stay slow with his motions, he crept through, staying as quiet and still as he could. Everything that Humans posess makes noise of some kind. It would be better to avoid these things as he neared his prize - a tall tin can near the edge of the camp. Far enough away from their tents that he may not be seen if someone happens to peek through. The sight of the can was both exciting and discouraging at the same time. These people didn't tie their bag into a tree, which made it accessable by, say, a hungry wolf... But it would take some careful time to get into. He neared the can, shimmering in the moonlight like a silvery treasure beckoning him closer when he got even more excited - someone must have forgotten to put the lid on! A smile crept across his muzzle as he realized - He'd be like a ghost. A fancy, full, cunning, daring, LUCKY ghost. A PHANTOM even, liberating the remains of actual food from their silvery, shimmering, plastic lined prison!
Eight crept up and hoisted himself onto his hind legs, His front legs and face drooping over, into the can as he sniffed in a lungful of wonderful, wonderful, slow roasted ambriosia! His excitment grew and his mouth salivated as he began to rummage through the can, probably louder than he realized. He moved and muzzled aside plastic, cardboard, boxes and bags until, JACKPOT! His nose was spot on, a full and still relatively in tact chicken! Oh this was shaping up to be a good night, indeed.
His head perked up out of the can, looking from one side to the other for signs of movment. Nothing, he got their even before racoons had the chance. This was too good to be true. A moment later, this was proven. As he lunged back into the can, his teeth excitedly around his prize, the can began to tilt. He reached a little further in for a good grip and upon his exit, brough the can down with him.
"CLAAANG!" The tin alarm sounded with an audible racket. He knew he had been caught, it was certain. A light came on in a tent, and a zipping noise could be heard very well, along with some chatter. It was too late to run for it, he hunkered down behind the can as best he could, staying out of sight of the light, now searching here and there. He waited there for what felt like an eternity, a half picked chicken in mouth, salivating and trying to remain focused from the tantilizing smell until he heard the most relieving sound,
"... freaking raccoons. Get up, we have a mess."
He peeked around the side of his tin can fortress for a brief second and as soon as he saw this person turned the other direction for even a second, he let out. His paws carried him as fast as they could down a hilly area into some brush where he sat out of breath.
Within a few short moments, his pants and worried expression melted into realization. Realization that came accompanied by a huge smile and laughter.
"I can't believe I just got away with that." He said to himself as he checked his surroundings before returning to his treasure, "You'd better be worth it." He said to the half eaten chicken rib cage as he picked some meat off the bones and practically shuddered "Oooh... oh...mmmheheeeheheh..." he uttered noncoherancies as he nodded and layed down gnawing, salivating and smiling ear to ear. He had already made up his mind between goofy sounds and crunching, he'd sleep here tonight. It would probably the safest place he could find anyway.
"There's a trick to traveling but having no destination," Eight muttered to himself, his mild souther drawl coming through "see, y'have to make sure ya pick a direction and stick with it..." Traveling alone for long enough with little interaction can take its toll on you without realizing.
The day was getting late and he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, which was wearing off, as squirrel typically tends to do, being such a small meal. He considered to himself that within an hour it may be a good idea to find a place to lie for the evening, all the while still humming to himself and checking his surroundings, The trees around him thinned out and faded with the sun, he was apparently nearing the edge of the thick wilderness he's been traveling through all day. A very welcome change. The chirp of birds became more audible as he neared the edge of the forrest, there were more of them here, just chattering up a storm, a sharp contrast to the silence he'd become acustom to. Aside from the birds, he noticed that the pine needles and leaves were becoming more scarce on the ground where they had once been littered under his paws. The dirt here was also more sandy. He stopped to consider it for a moment, his ears perking and dropping with his varying facial expressions. He shifted the ground for a moment with his paw, scratching at it here or there. This could be the edge of a new territory, the terrain so far is different from anything he'd seen. His eyes scanned around before him as he started to walk again, keeping a watchful eye for any predators or even another pack whos territory he may be intruding upon. With this new prospect he had a few options to consider. He didn't want to present himself as a threat, but he didn't want to be jumped by some mountain cat either.
He tried pushing this from his mind til he found a place to sleep for the night, If his hunch was correct, It would soon be an importance to stay unseen during the nocturnal hours.
Continuing onward at a more hurried pace, Eight stopped at a sight he hadn't seen in days. A trail. He immediately headed away from it and stopped among some bushes and thick trees as to remain unseen. He scanned along for a breif moment.
A trail means activity. And activity means that something in the area travels here daily. A trail like this through the sparse parts of the woods and not through the thick almost certainly meant humans. And that means...
His thought process was suddenly interrupted by familiar scents - Smoke. Fire. Food. He knew where he was, a camp resort. Most would consider this a place to avoid or go around. Most would consider this dangerous. But Eight did not.
Eight was, among his many traits, an opportunist. His stommach needed to be filled and people had food. He'd have to skip some sleep to rummage through some garbage, but his brain didn't have much say in the matter. He was hungry, and that was that.
He scouted around a little, found a few promising sites, waiting til dark. Once the people are asleep, it should be easy pickings - and the smell of chicken is definite.
After an hour or so he headed into one of the camps, around a few tents, around the embers still barely burning in a fire ring, giving off a very mild warmth. Making sure to stay slow with his motions, he crept through, staying as quiet and still as he could. Everything that Humans posess makes noise of some kind. It would be better to avoid these things as he neared his prize - a tall tin can near the edge of the camp. Far enough away from their tents that he may not be seen if someone happens to peek through. The sight of the can was both exciting and discouraging at the same time. These people didn't tie their bag into a tree, which made it accessable by, say, a hungry wolf... But it would take some careful time to get into. He neared the can, shimmering in the moonlight like a silvery treasure beckoning him closer when he got even more excited - someone must have forgotten to put the lid on! A smile crept across his muzzle as he realized - He'd be like a ghost. A fancy, full, cunning, daring, LUCKY ghost. A PHANTOM even, liberating the remains of actual food from their silvery, shimmering, plastic lined prison!
Eight crept up and hoisted himself onto his hind legs, His front legs and face drooping over, into the can as he sniffed in a lungful of wonderful, wonderful, slow roasted ambriosia! His excitment grew and his mouth salivated as he began to rummage through the can, probably louder than he realized. He moved and muzzled aside plastic, cardboard, boxes and bags until, JACKPOT! His nose was spot on, a full and still relatively in tact chicken! Oh this was shaping up to be a good night, indeed.
His head perked up out of the can, looking from one side to the other for signs of movment. Nothing, he got their even before racoons had the chance. This was too good to be true. A moment later, this was proven. As he lunged back into the can, his teeth excitedly around his prize, the can began to tilt. He reached a little further in for a good grip and upon his exit, brough the can down with him.
"CLAAANG!" The tin alarm sounded with an audible racket. He knew he had been caught, it was certain. A light came on in a tent, and a zipping noise could be heard very well, along with some chatter. It was too late to run for it, he hunkered down behind the can as best he could, staying out of sight of the light, now searching here and there. He waited there for what felt like an eternity, a half picked chicken in mouth, salivating and trying to remain focused from the tantilizing smell until he heard the most relieving sound,
"... freaking raccoons. Get up, we have a mess."
He peeked around the side of his tin can fortress for a brief second and as soon as he saw this person turned the other direction for even a second, he let out. His paws carried him as fast as they could down a hilly area into some brush where he sat out of breath.
Within a few short moments, his pants and worried expression melted into realization. Realization that came accompanied by a huge smile and laughter.
"I can't believe I just got away with that." He said to himself as he checked his surroundings before returning to his treasure, "You'd better be worth it." He said to the half eaten chicken rib cage as he picked some meat off the bones and practically shuddered "Oooh... oh...mmmheheeeheheh..." he uttered noncoherancies as he nodded and layed down gnawing, salivating and smiling ear to ear. He had already made up his mind between goofy sounds and crunching, he'd sleep here tonight. It would probably the safest place he could find anyway.
