Whispers of the Wildwoods

With a plan hastily concocted, the pack sprang into action. They bounded through the twilight, their hearts pounding with anticipation. The forest was alive with the sounds of chirping crickets and rustling leaves, but their focus was set on one goal: marshmallows.

As they approached the Old Man's cabin, its wooden walls loomed ahead like a fortress. The hounds huddled behind a thick bush, their eyes wide, scanning for any signs of the Old Man. "Okay, I'll go first," Rage whispered, taking a deep breath. "If I see him, I'll bark and let you know."

With the rest of the pack nodding in agreement, Rage crept toward the cabin, his paws silent on the ground. He peeked around the edge of the cabin, and to his relief, he spotted Old Man Jenkins snoring loudly in a rocking chair on the porch, his hat tipped over his eyes.

"Clear!" Rage whispered excitedly, darting back to the bush.