Heron Lake Plateau I'm a police officer. I'm a police officer and I want a cup of tea.

Owen marched forth with increasing confidence, giving the dirt framing the den exit a snippity little yip of superiority once he had safely passed by it. Hah! See how much quicker and cleverer he was? No way that dumb dirt corner was going to sneak up and bite him again. ...Owen's smug high-stepping gait was halted in its tracks, however, when he saw the sudden spikes that loomed up before him, their pointed tines gleaming wickedly in the late afternoon light. He splayed his legs wide and stared at the bizarre, threatening shape with his head lowered and his ears flicking to and fro in uncertainty. Had someone...booby-trapped the den entrance?! Oh no! How would Mommy get back in here if that nasty spiked array was still in place when she returned?!

Owen squinched up his nose and half-folded back his ears in uncertainty as he crouched lower to the ground and began to creep up upon the menacing spikebeast. If it was alive, it seemed to be asleep...but Owen wasn't certain it was actually alive. Even though to his nervously twitchy nose it smelled like maybe it at least had been, at some point—deliciously so, even. Tiptoeing gradually closer, quivering a little with anticipation as much as fear, he leaned over to give the spikes an uncertain poke, ready to turn tail and bolt for the safety of the dark den once more should the sleeping spikebeast magically awaken. How heavy was it? Would he possibly be able to somehow magically convince it to please move itself outta the way, one way or another?