Phoenix Maplewood a squirrel and dessert

His teeth closed on a squirrel that did not have a chance to squeal before its skull was crushed and its body hung limp in his mouth. It was barely a snack and would not keep him long. Fortunately, he had been in the right place at the right time and thus spent little energy catching it. He scooped the rodent up as it fled past him, so focused on escaping the pursuit of another squirrel it had failed to notice the predator standing like a statue in the brush.

It disappeared down his throat in a matter of two bites. If only he had a stash of fermented fruits and berries to chase it with. When he was stationary he was seldom far from his next fix, but on the move it was a much rarer indulgence. Big game, hooch, these were among the things he missed about pack life, and among the things that made the idea of settling down more tolerable. One way or the other, he knew he was best to find residence somewhere before winter drifted back in. For now he had time, but he was well aware of how fast it could pass.

Rhett walked, and as he passed a maple he noticed a series of cuts in its bark, appearing to have been left by the claws of a bear. Clear sap oozed from its wound, and he paused to lick at the sweet liquid.