Heron Lake Plateau Ain't No Stopping Us Now

Screech had tried his best to find that nest of discarded eggs, but he had no luck. The swampiness of the plateau was getting on his nerves, and it was made worse by the afternoon rain. It wasn't the worst weather in the world — just a drizzle which had begun that morning — but it made everything slick and smelly. The smell of the ducks, geese, and herons was stronger with the rainfall and Screech was quick to give up his hunt for the lost eggs, assuming that they'd become too cold with the rain anyways, and likely spoiled in the few hours since he'd killed the mother duck. Huff.

As he traipsed through the tall grass, he thought he heard movement — so he stopped, one muddy paw raised almost to his chest (since he'd been carefully trying to plot a course through the muck). He looked almost like a hound dog on point. The moment passed as soon as he saw a dulled silver form moving beyond the grassland. Thinking it might've been Finley (who he was certainly eager to avoid) Screech ducked and tried to find a path out of the thick-set grass. He emerged just shy of the stranger's location and stumbled backwards, sinking his paws in to the thick mud he had been trying to avoid.

Aw, shit, he murmured, and looked down at the soil.