Whitebark Stream Some say you can get hurt by what you don't know

Ephraim's paws were whisper-quiet on the ground as he crept along the creek with his ears and eyes both trained on the bubbling surface. Once or twice he paused, not because he sensed anything amiss, but because it seemed like something a skilled hunter might do. A splash further down the stream made his eyes widen and his whiskers twitch, and he quickly licked his lips to compose himself. He was getting close. He was actually going to do it!

But there were many variables to hunting beyond just the hunter's ability to move stealthily. Wind direction, weather condition, even the direction of the sun's rays all had an effect. Ephraim failed to notice his shadow dancing across the surface of the water, but the wary fish in the stream didn't miss that detail. So when he thought he was close enough and swung toward the surface with a quick, spear-like lunge, his quarry was already streaking away.

Spluttering, Ephraim struggled to right himself in the shallow water and, soaked to the bone, trudged sourly back to the bank where Vercingetorix was, he was certain, laughing at him.