The Sentinels wrong time small crime

The wilds had served up a summer storm. Rain and thunder murmured secretively, making celestial plans that were beyond the clearance level of mere mortals.

Sam, one such lowly creature,  had taken shelter where the leggy pines wore their dense skirts of green needles high. The moss ten feet below was only slightly damp - the few brave droplets that made it through the vertical obstacle course deserved their bed.

The sound was soothing. But Sam was not  soothed. @Visala and @Kirain slumbered nearby, having used a good portion of the day's energy on convincing a screaming Sam that the shadows were in fact just that.

But he was not convinced. Not really. The Huldra lurked in every crevice, stalked him behind every tree. He had to do something - repent, protect himself, something.

Sam got quietly to his feet, grimacing when his bruised ribs made themselves known. He gave the snoozing girls a quick look before creeping away, nose skimming the moss, intent on finding the thing that ol' Cackle had been known to eat so that she might commune with the forest on a spiritual level. Sam needed to speak to the manager.