Redhawk Caldera redbone

Following his adventure at the lake, Dingo had been totally worn out. He followed the lake's edge with the idle hope of finding something to eat — like a fish, as much as he detested their slimy skin and limited range of flavor — and upon finding nothing, chose to sleep. He had moved east, then north, navigating one side of the lake with a mountain view across one shoulder. By the time he slept it was late, but it wasn't difficult for the boy to doze off.

In the morning he got up with a groan, feeling the ache in his leg muscles from all the travel and then the swimming. He'd overdone it, but had nobody to bitch at about it. Stupid legs, stop yellin' at me, muscles. Dingo slurred as he practiced bending his joints and moving about; eventually his body was warmed up again and he was on the hunt for something tasty.

Instead of food he found the marks of pack dotting the hillside. That should have dissuaded the boy, but he was a reckless fool — and he was hungry, so that trumped everything. He slunk across the border in the manner of a fox, his head down and nose overworking the soil as he searched for a cache or for something dead he could nibble at -- and voila, as luck would have it, there was a poorly covered cache for him to dive face-first in to!

He didn't think (unless thinking with one's stomach counted); if he had been paying attention, Dingo would've realized the cache wasn't improperly covered but rather, half finished, and someone was lurking nearby.