Whiskers in the Dark

Morrow led the platoon cautiously up the narrow draw in the green jungle twilight; the warning sense that usually kept him out of trouble was up--enemies were near--but today the officers were too focused on their plan to pay him any attention. Steep, rocky slopes boxed him in like a rat sneaking between a lion's paws, hoping it wouldn't wake up and swat him. Dark fissures among the ledges stared down at him like cats' eyes and he could feel them watching him, waiting to spring their trap--the lion was awake.