I perched on a thin branch, ears perked and listening. Cold wind swept past me, making my fur bristle.
Colors of fall were already here, and so were the overcast grey skies. The coast was clear. I lept of the branch, spangling my legs and landed with an inaudible thud.
The ground was scattered with a haven of acorns and pinecones. I quickly whisked my tail up, picked a reddish colored nut and bit into it, nibbling quickly.
I didn't have much time. The nut was gone too quickly. I had a hole prepared from yesterday, and took five nuts. I buried them, not bothering to mark the spot.
It was a fault of all squirrels. We buried our treasure, lose the navigations completely, and kill off a couple old grey squirrels who get caught up in the fury of re-finding the treasure.
It may seem cruel, but a squirrels pride is based on his agility. If you're not swift enough to survive, death is a way to symbolize you died with pride.
I think it's incredibly dumb. But I was halfway back to the old oak tree, and I wasn't risking turning back.
Too late, night had fallen. It was unrecognizable, since there was no way to tell, but they knew.
I could hear the soft rustle of feathers and crackling of bones. A black shadow flitting inside of the corner of my eye.
I ran as fast as I could, no looking back. With one swoop, a coal black crow, with one light blue eye, and a red eye eyed my with pleasure.
Before I could move a muscle, a sharp black claw came out from under the crow and sliced at me.
I watched the blade of my death as it came forward in slow motion.
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