Ziro’s blood froze as he jolted awake in a hurry. His sleep had been light, plagued with nightmares of a one-footed owl and a red-eyed shadow chasing him through the woods. He shook his head and sat up, half expecting to come face to face with some kind of horrendous creature invading their camp. Instead, under morning’s first light, he saw Streak, running around the smouldering campfire being pestered by a furry white moth, with bright orange eyes. The fluttering creature kept following him around as he scurried about, colliding into his head.

Night swallowed the mice before they were ready. Ziro managed to kindle a fire before the coolness of the dark became too unbearable, but without shelter or his blaster to protect them they were easy prey in a wild world.

Magenta couldn’t scream to save her life. Snatched from above by the piercing talons embedded in her shoulder it was all she could do to breathe and even that wasn’t going so well.

Tension was high as the squad waited in earnest for the creature to reappear. With blasters raised and vengeance on their minds, they scanned the waters.

There were only two things Ziro knew for sure at this point: he was going to throw up, and he wasn’t going to look cool doing it.