The Sentinels eat sugar, stay up late, have a seizure

@Visala

Summer nights were short. It was barely full dark for more than a handful of hours, and Sam would spend every second of that time on the cusp of shitting his proverbial pants.

It had started well enough. A little chit-chat. A pee break. An entire hour spent trying to explain colors. Then came the dark, and Sam and the Ghost were finally living on equal terms.

Sam had reformed into a loaf, paws tucked and tail wrapped tightly. It was dark enough among the juvenile pines that he could only see vague shapes. His hearing, however, was working overtime – and hallucinating more than a chatbot.

"Did you hear that?" Sam whispered, head swiveling to face the direction of the sound. Stomps? Steps? It sounded close.

Escalate panic? Even yes, odd no. Roll: 4