A Thief's Adventure
He surveyed the area from a nearby bush, under cover of darkness. His orange color scheme did very little to camouflage him with the greenery of brush, but he had his ways around it. He was quiet. Quiet as a mouse, one could say, scanning the grounds with expert care and consideration for every factor in play.
A trainer had stopped to rest for the night. A tent was pitched. A small collapsible picnic table erected, and not much else. His eyes fell upon the true prize; what appeared to be a small, portable metal crate with a lid and a lock. That was his target; that was his survival. Most trainers left their valuables out and unlocked, but this time he was not so lucky. This trainer was smart. A thick padlock adorned the box of goodies, and worse yet, a vigilant guard slept only a few feet away from the valuables. A Houndoom; the perfect guard dog. Alert, focused, and deadly. He watched the drool roll slowly down the lower lip of the beast, which seemed to be snarling in its sleep. He knew this would be tough, but he had no choice. He hadn't eaten in days, and was becoming frighteningly thin for one of his species.
He sat, waited, and watched. The guard dog appeared to sleep, but he saw through the ruse. The dog's breathing was strangely irregular, his ears twitched almost rhythmically, the tail moved every now and then. Clearly the beast was well rested. With the option of sneaking past the dog eliminated, he thought harder. A distraction, perhaps? No, it would never work. He would need quite a lengthy distraction to have time to pick the lock and escape with the supplies.
He scoured the ground for a rock or a twig, and found a decent sized little pebble. Weighing it, he took aim at the guard dog and hurled it. It did not hit him, but it shuffled the dirt and made a sound; which was all he needed. A deep, guttural growl rumbled the earth as the beast rose warily to his feet, nose sticking to the air in hopes of catching a scent. The thief in hiding had little time to react as the dog picked his scent out within seconds and began to lumber ominously toward him, the aggressive growl growing deeper and more threatening with each step.
The Houndoom heard a noise in a nearby bush, and the scent followed it. Something moved between the leaves, and smelled strong of the intruder. Turning towards this new target, the beast stepped closer until it could see over and into the bush. But the only thing there was a baby blue scarf, flowing gently in the wind, which produced the sound of rustling leaves. The guard dog stayed put, puzzled, but dismissed it as nothing, and turned back to resume its fake slumber.
Our sleeping trainer in question was in fact, a female. The thief, requiring a tool for lock picking, could find no such item. The camp was empty, a bare picnic table, a box and a tent was all there was. Where he had not checked, was the trainer's hair.
So the guard dog bothered itself with the decoy scarf for a while. Our little thief scanned the tent, feeling around with his paws for his target... a brush, a lantern, various clothing... and finally, a hairpin. Taking the small piece of metal and holding it in his teeth, he slunk back out of the tent, parting the flaps only to be face to face with the growling, enraged guard beast. They both froze for a moment.
Then, it barked. The thief bolted away, disappearing into the brush yet again. The guard beast took off after him, as did the trainer, and so began the chase. The thief emitted small electric shocks to remain visible to his pursuers, who blindly followed the light as their only beacon in the pitch black forest. The Houndoom breathed plumes of flame at the fleeing thief with poor accuracy, but just accurate enough to make him sweat. Fireballs flew past the little thief's head, causing him to pant heavily from the powerful heat, his running pace beginning to slow, his body having terrible difficulty keeping cool while running from an inferno. The beast showed no signs of slowing down, its ferocious barks striking fear into the thief. He tripped. The Houndoom leaped atop the little thief and pinned him down with its front paws, growling madly into his vulnerable face. Its breath grew blazing hot, flame welling up in its maw as it prepared to deliver the coup de grâce to his prey.
There was a flash of light. The beast howled in agony as it fell backward, its senses blocked and disoriented, the thief taking off into the darkness. The trainer and her guard dog stopped, blind as bats in the pitch dark, unforgiving woods.
His plan had succeeded; his victims lost in the woods, helpless until daylight, but he cared not. All he wanted was what he could squeeze out of them; what was theirs that would become his. He ran far enough away and then guided himself back to their campsite with his own sense of direction and the light of the moon. Untucking the hairpin from his teeth, our thief approached the lockbox and handily picked the lock open as if he'd done it a thousand times before. Inside was his salvation; bandages, antiseptic, a few apples, a homemade sandwich, some milk and eggs, various tools and provisions. Quite the jackpot, indeed. He fetched his scarf from the bush and wrapped up everything he could carry, tying it up like a makeshift sack, and marching away with his plunder.
Tonight, he would eat like a king.