Once they were far enough away that small movements wouldn't be heard, Jack stepped forward, picking his way carefully through the brush. In his hand he carried a bundle of twigs, tied with grass. They poked out in odd directions and didn't make any recognizable shape. He carefully placed it on top of the tent before moving back into the trees. His Stunky's smokescreen rolls a mist in around the campsite.

And then, because he couldn't help himself any longer, Jack screamed. It was a God-awful sound--a sound a creature makes when it's dying, when it's in pain, when it's in fear, when it's heartbroken and angry all at once and the wail is hard to classify as man or mon.