The Event Horizon

January the 24th, open to Trusty, Scamp, and anyone within reason. Location is the front yards of the Dear home, and Trusty's plantation home.

Scamp slowly opened his eyes, the chocolate orbs seemed to be full of a tiredness that betrayal his youth. His chest was heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, heartbeat slowing down to normal. The pillow and blankets of his basket where kicked and tossed into a rabid mess, his fur matted and tousled from his late night struggles. he had been paid visit by the same dream, the same terror. A ghost from his past. Like clockwork, each night since Rourke's visit. The same words echoing in his head. Same images, relieved again and again.

“You never deserved her. You never deserved anything except to be an insignificant one of a hundred-and-one.”

The mongrel dropped his head into the pillow, and placed both paws atop his maw, covering his eyes. Gathering his thoughts and attempting to force the ghosts to fade back into the depths of his mind from which they came. He had hoped that returning home would lay these phantoms to rest. Instead, they only seemed to be growing. Since his face off with Rourke, the nightmares had been constant, vivid, and painful. Vision of Angel, 'Tani, Patch...even his parents. They all seemed to form a gauntlet that was becoming harder and harder to escape. He had gone extra lengths, sleeping in other rooms. Changing pillows to rid his own basket of Angel's scent. Even sleeping in his sister's basket. None of it seemed to work.

Rising from his bed, the pup shook himself. Stretching each limb. Taking special care to the one that had been ripped asunder almost a month ago. The bandages had been removed, and from all outward appearances the wounds had healed. No scars to be seen thankfully. After a quick drink from the water bowl, the mongrel moved through the kitchen, head held low and a seemingly tired gate to his movements. He knew his respite would soon be over. Jim Dear had written out a rather sizable set of letters for the messenger to deliver, and it would only be a matter of time before Scamp had to don his bags and return to the Pridelands. The dog yawned as he passed through the doggie door and into the backyard.

Outside, the morning sun was reveling a wintery wonderland that was starting to show signs of melt. The front yards and roofs of the beautiful homes all held a pristine blanket of white. But the street was a muddy mess of slush, runoff, ice, and muck. A much younger and carefree pup would have found merriment in the slush. But Scamp instead stuck to the sidewalk, and passed through the iron gate that separated the Dear home from the street.

He walked down the pavement, leaving crisp sets of paw prints in his wake, smiling as he passed the hedgerow where Uncle Jock's not so secret bank was located. Maybe that's what he should do! He hadn't paid visit to Uncle Trusty in soem time. Not since Rourke's visit at least. Perhaps his uncle could make sense of what had happened.

Padding through the front gate of the plantation style home, Scamp walked across the snow covered front yard, and mounted the front steps to the wrap around porch. His gate seemed sluggish, tired, and despite the kind half smile on his face, his eyelids seemed heavy and his ears hung low. All the signs of an exhausted pooch.

"Uncle Trusty! You awake?"

His voice was low, despite his call. For should the bloodhound happen to be slumbering somewhere on the porch, he did not wish to intrude.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

Ever since Scamp had arrived back home in Marceline, Trusty hadn't slept as soundly as he used to. Not since he'd had time to consider just what the young dog's arrival could mean for the quiet town. Furthermore, the desire to do his part in helping Lady's children and looking after them, which had been largely dormant since he'd fallen ill, had resurfaced, stronger than ever. His heart still yearned for the old days, when he was young and fit, and full of energy. When he could leap into action without a second thought.

But now, now he had his ailing master to look after. The old man could barely fend for himself these days, and Trusty couldn't bring himself to even contemplate betraying his trust by leaving. Or even broaching the subject, even if the notion that he and his master could actually communicate as if they weren't of separate species weren't still an odd one.

His worries about the future had only intensified since the visitor had arrived, seven days ago, to the house next door. While Trusty hadn't seen the man leave, he'd been heading inside when the man arrived. He'd paused in some suspicion until Jim had invited the man inside, before heading inside himself. Something about the large human had just struck him the wrong way.

The morning found the aged bloodhound sprawled out on his kitchen floor, eyes wide open, or at least as much as a hound's eyes could be, staring, unseeing, at the wall. He was lying on the floor not far from the dog door. Close enough to hear Scamp's low voice. His thoughts interrupted, the big hound stood and stretched before strolling towards the dog door, which was almost twice the height of the one on the Dear residence's back door to accommodate the hound's greater height. He pushed the hanging flap forward with his nose and stepped forward, pausing for a moment with his forelegs outside, and his hindquarters still inside, the door obscuring his eyes as he took a deep sniff of the outdoors.

"Oh, no uh, of course not. Uh, I mean, uh, yes, I'm home," he said, briefly shaking his head, jowls wobbling, as he corrected himself. He padded forward the rest of the way, moving forward far enough to clear the dog door before seating himself. He was about to say more, but his words died in his mouth as he looked Scamp over. A faint grimace crossed his features as he took in the tired eyes, and generally weary look about the younger dog.

"You look worn out, son. Like you haven't, uh, been sleeping well. It wouldn't have anything to do with that big feller who stopped by a bout a week ago, would it?" he asked, not wasting any time beating about the bush. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the young dog since that night. Not that he'd seen too much of Scamp after welcoming him home, and extending an offer of hospitality to him. One that it seemed like Scamp might have been wise to accept, especially if his exhaustion was due to trying to sleep in a house so full of memories.

Scamp back-peddled as the bloodhound's upper body passed through the doggie door, stopping for a second with the door balanced on his snout taking a deep whiff of the envroment. The young mongrel took a step back to allow the older dog room to emerge from the canine contraption before sitting down on his haunches on the wooden floorboards of the porch.  But his soft smile faded as the hound instantly took note of the grey mutt's condition.

"Hiya Uncle Trusty,"  Despite the chipper nature of his tone, It seemed that the old hound did not miss much. Scamp could feel his tired smile slip. there was no point in ignoring his disheveled nature. "Yah, you could say some wiriness has entered my bones recently."

Scamp could feel his heart quickening as he realized that Trusty had seen the man as well. His uncle was close. Since Rourke's visit, the house on Snob Hill with it's charming front yard just did not feel like home. It felt as if a dark shadow had been cast upon the oasis that Scamp had hoped to find.

"So, you saw him too. I had a sort of run in with him not long after he left the house. He calls himself Lyle Rourke, and he is a Humen villion if I ever saw one. I have no idea why he was here, and JIm is refusing to talk to me about it. But it doesn't bode well. I'm sure of that!"

That was putting it mildly. The one time Scamp had inquired about their visitor, Jim just went into some sort of boyhood hero worship, going on about Roruke's achievements and endeavors. It wasn't hard for the dog to take notice that his master was carefully avoiding discussing the conversation itself between him and the mercenary.




(OOC: bah, it's not as good as the post I had written previously. But it will do.)

A grim look, almost lost between the folds of Trusty's face, briefly showed itself. To see Scamp of all dogs looking so worn out was hard to stomach. He'd been so energetic, so full of life and carefree, and now, he looked so weary that Trusty really hoped (although he wouldn't suggest such a thing) that Scamp would decide to take an extended stay here. But, as Scamp continued talking, the old hound began to doubt the wisdom of such a thing.

On the one hand, Scamp was here with a message from Simba's army, and it had something to do with Marceline apparently. On the other hand, this 'Lyle Rourke' arrived not long after, possibly representing Agrabah. Two opposing armies, sending representatives to the same place, didn't bode well.

A low, groaning sigh rumbled in the hound's chest as he slid his forepaws along the porch, stopping only when he was stretched out, belly on the porch boards. He found himself wishing Jock was still around. The Scottie had a quick mind, despite his quick temper. He was usually quicker to take notice of things than Trusty was.

"I think you'd best tell me everything you know. About, uh, about, uh...that feller who was here and what you know about him. And, about what you've been sent here for," he stated evenly. When he'd first heard about the confidential missive Scamp had carried, and delivered straight into Jim Dear's hand, he hadn't pressed the issue, believing it to be a matter for the human to deal with. But now, with the strange, untrustworthy visitor's quiet arrival, and even more quiet departure, he felt that, perhaps, it was time to change that.

While Trusty wasn't a soldier, he was the only ally, the only friend, Scamp had here. And he certainly didn't want to see the war that had taken his family away, one of them forever, spread here. Not if there were anything he could do to stop it.

Scamp rolled his head back and scratched at a spot just behind one of his ears with a hind leg. As he did so his tongue rolled out, and he finished his quick scratch with a flick of his head. His mother had once told him that it was impolite to scratch in-front of others, but his father seemed to do it all the time.

"Well, it's sort of a strange story. You know I was sent here with a message of some sort for Jim. I was told that I had to return to Pride Rock by the end of the month, or whenever Jim had a reply ready. Whichever came first. I was not told what the message was, and I did not look at it...as much as I wanted too."

The pup grimaced. he had been so preocupied with getting away from the war that he didn't even think to find some way to open or read the scroll.

"Well, I was trying to sleep a few nights back when I heard that man, Rourke, enter the house. Jim had closed the doors to the parlor so I have idea what they where talking about.  B-but they did mention Jafar! He is sorta this big wig leader of the Human Alliance. I then tailed the guy after he left...and uh...well, I cornered him and he talked to me. Told me his name and told me to stay out of the way. Then, uh..he had this gun, and I sort of had to let him go."

The mongrel gave a sharp nod of his head, as if that was all there was too it. Glossing over how he had so smoothly gotten himself cornered, and how slick his ability of falling into a trap was.

"But Jim has his response written. I saw him reading through the scroll and writing stuff down. So...I think I may have his response in the nest day or so." He couldn't help but let his triangular ears flop down in disappointment. "So, I'll have to return to Priderock soon. But only for a little while. General Shang says that he has a lot of trips for me."

Lady's view on scratching in front of others notwithstanding, Trusty himself was prone to indulging in a good scratch when and wherever he felt like it. As it was, his hind foot twitched a bit as Scamp scratched behind an ear, and if the situation hadn't been so serious, he might very well have followed suit.

He listened intently as Scamp spoke, forcing himself to remain silent as the young mongrel revealed everything he knew. As he spoke, Trusty mulled over what he was hearing, puzzling through everything deliberately, and carefully. He didn't need to know what was in the letter to know that this...General Shang, whoever he was, had an interest in Marceline. Or something within the town. Something that had to do with the ongoing war.

His long, pendulous ears perked up a bit when Scamp mentioned tailing Rourke, and cornering him. He blinked once in mild surprise when Scamp failed to go into much detail about the confrontation, then smiled a bit, an amused glint in his eye showing he suspected Scamp wasn't being entirely honest about the encounter even as his chest swelled with pride in the young dog's courage. Big as Rourke was, Trusty suspected he himself would have been hard-pressed to corner the man, even if he hadn't had a gun.

But he didn't gainsay the young dog's claim. He'd worked beside a few other young dog in his day, a couple of whom had told similar tales, and his head rose a bit, his pride in his adopted nephew obvious. "I'd have been honored to have you by my side, back in the swamps," he said. Then his smile faded as he fully registered that Scamp would be leaving before too much longer.

"Well, whatever, uh, Jafar or Rourke, or, uh, your General Shang, have in mind, I fear what it may bring to this town," he said, pausing for a moment to gaze out across the yard, and the surrounding houses, suddenly feeling a cold that had nothing to do with the weather creep up his spine. He remained silent for a moment, then let out a soft sigh.

"But, uh, before we jump to any, any conclusions, we'd best make certain we're on the right track, and not following a false trail," he stated, returning his gaze towards the younger dog. "I suspect you'll be back with another message before too long. Now, uh, I wouldn't normally hold with, uh, with poking my nose where it isn't wanted, but, uh, if you can figure out how to, uh, to find out what the message says, uh, without being found out, then I think it would be justified, given the circumstances. But, if not, well, there's more than one way to catch a crook."

The dog nodded his head slowly, eyes focusing on his own paws while Trusty gazed across the yard.  Inside, he felt a sizable amount of guilt. It was he who came to their town with the initial message, the first vestiges of that wretched war. He had carried not only his own burden, but the pain and suffering of untold millions. He closed his eyes and thought back, longing for the days when his only concern was how badly he would be punished for slopping mud in the house. But this was bigger, and the stakes would be higher then ever before. Like his uncle, Scamp likewise felt a cold chill seep up his spine. A soft wind fluttered the fur of his back and neck.

Once it started, there would be no stopping.

His eyes shot open when Trusty mentioned opening the letter somehow and reading it's contents. For a second, Scamp found himself slightly shocked, not so much at the suggestion as much as by the one suggesting it. Trusty had always been this great pillar of wisdom in his life. A teller of long winded stories but always with a word of kindness. A gentile giant.

"Well, that depends if it's sealed. I noticed that Shang tends to put this sticky stamp on the scroll. Holding it closed. It's got all this fancy writing in it. I think Jim may do the same. If he does, we won't be able to read it without breaking that seal. We would have to be really slick at doing it..."

The pup interrupted himself by attempting to suppress a large yawn, unsuccessfully. His maw opening up wide and showing a long line of pearly white teeth and a healthy pink tongue.

"...Sorry about that. But uh...I uh...yah. Reading the letter. That sounds like a good idea."

Truth be told, Trusty was highly uncomfortable with the idea, but he really saw no other choice. For one, he held no loyalty towards Simba or his army, and another, whatever was going on didn't seem to be Jim Dear's business alone. He wasn't the only one who lived in Marceline, nor did he run the town, no matter how much influence he might have with the town council. So he was mainly acting on impulse. ON what he felt was the right course of action given the circumstances, no matter the consequences.

But from the sound of things, getting into any of the letters might be too difficult. And since it was Scamp's job to deliver said letters, tampering with them could very well get the young dog in a lot of trouble. Trusty wouldn't care if it was just himself, but he wouldn't risk doing that to Scamp.

"Only if, uh, it's something you can do without getting caught," he cautioned again. If the young dog was to be found out, Shang would likely send another messenger. One who wasn't so likely to have Marceline's best interests in mind as Scamp did. Then they'd really lose any hope of figuring out what was truly going on. He frowned slightly as he looked Scamp over again, wondering just how bad the pup had been sleeping.

"What else can you tell me about that Rourke feller?" he asked, hoping the man might have let something important slip. Of course, he should probably learn what he could about that other man, the general who Scamp said had sent him here in the first place. "And, uh, that...uh, that other feller. General, uh, Shang, was it?"

Scamp raised a paw to just below his muzzle, thinking of the best way to describe the encounter with Rourke.

"He was a pretty wicked big man. I mean, absolute brute. Wide shoulders and very sharp features. I dunno...built like a brick-house. But he was very sure of himself, very prepared."

The canine shuddered, laying down on his stomach with his hind legs tucked under him and his forepaws crossed before him. In a way, much like his mother would do.  He took a deep sigh, and a roll of his eyes. The man had been more then just prepared. It was the assurance of his success that unnerved Scamp. It was like he had known that no matter what would happen, he would have the favorable outcome in the end.

"General Shang, well. He is one of the more strict officers. Like, very strict. Worse then pop used to be. I couldn't get away with anything while he was watching. He would notice if the seal was messed with."

The pup thought back, remembering the ornate wax seal that had been stamped on the set of scrolls. There would be no way to break the seal and reset it exactly. While he loyalty had been a partial reason, the seal had been what finally kept the dog from opening the scroll before he delivered it. Suddenly, Scamp's eyebrows arched, realization flooding his mind. Jim Dear had not written on a scroll. He had written on several loose sheaves of paper. The letters where still sitting atop the desk as of the night before, unsealed. It was Sunday, when the master slept late. Perhaps it would be possible to sneak a look at them before Jim Dear rose.

"I think I may have an idea." He craned his neck to look up at his uncle. His tail starting to thump against the wooden floorboards. "I saw Jim writing out the letters late last night. They may still be on the writing table in the parlor. Jim never wakes up before noon on Sunday..."

A coy smile spread across the mongrels maw, brown eyes darting as if fearing he could be overheard. It felt so strange to be scheming with Uncle Trusty of all dogs. This was more something his pop would have done.

"I'm sure we could you know...take a peek."

Scamp's description of General Shang brought to the old hound's mind the memory of a number of straight-laced, by the book police captains he had served alongside while tracking criminals through the swamps. Sharp eyed men who paid attention to even the smallest of details. They'd have to be extra careful to leave no trace of tampering if they wanted to leave him unawares of their duplicity.

The young dog's description of Rourke left Trusty's spirits a bit shaken. He'd tackled big men before, but never alone. He'd always had his grandfather, Ol' Reliable, by his side, and their master close behind with a gun. And, more often than not, a number of other such teams of man and dog close by. And the human's confidence was another unnerving fact. Either he was just supremely confident in himself, which would be bad enough, or he already had some sort of plan in place, which was far worse.

He was startled out of his thoughts, and stared, unblinking, while Scamp made his suggestion. He blinked once, a bit ponderously, as what Scamp was saying sank in. For a moment, he was frozen with indecision. That course of action flew in the face of his very being, and all of his training. Yes, he'd been the one to suggest reading the messages in the first place, but the idea actually go through with it, and so soon, caught the old dog off guard, and unprepared. But only for a moment. Their cause was just, their motives honorable despite their planned duplicity.

He looked around, ears swinging around his head in time with his jowls, almost copying Scamp's furtive glances, if not his subtlety, before he rose to his feet. "Come on. We might never get another opportunity like this," he said, setting off across the porch, an expression of unyielding resolve crossing his face, much like the one he wore when he'd raced after a dogcatcher's wagon all those months ago. His path was clear, and there was no turning from the trail now. Without looking back to see if Scamp was following him, he padded down the stairs, and towards the Dear residence at a brisk trot.

Scamp rose to his feet as Trusty started down the wooden stairs of the porch. Where they really about to do this? Over the course of the war, the mongol had done a lot of strange and unusual things. But he never would have imagined the drive that was hidden under the old bloodhound. He smirked silently, and shook his head. It seemed his Uncle had found a small grasp of youth again.

"Right. Let's go."

He plodded down the stairs and into the snow. Catching up to the bloodhound as they reached the street. Carefully avoiding patches of ice or mounds of mush. It seemed that the snow was starting an unusually early melt that year. Scamp felt his ears flop back in a slight chill that swept up the street.

"Last I saw, he had the message sitting on the writing table in the parlor. Jim Dear will still be asleep. But we have to be careful."

They walked around the back, and too the loose board in the fence. Scamp carefully raising the board with one paw to help the older bloodhound squeak through. It was a tight fit, only made tighter through the passage of time. The backyard was barren aside from the set of tracks that Scamp had already left earlier. The grey mutt made a mental note to come out later and run around the yard a bit to make it less obvious that two dogs had gone strait inside. By leaving a long succession of tracks, and perhaps a roll or two, he could cover their trail and make it seem as if he had just gone out and played in the snow.

Who knows, the dog thought to himself. It might even be a bit of fun to romp about like a little pup again.

But for now, the doggie door was their target.

Trusty's steps never faltered as he and Scamp padded through the snow and slush, plowing through the slight chill without reacting. Their brisk pace carried them swiftly to the loose fence board that had gone unfixed for so long. He snorted in mild, haughty irritation when Scamp raised the board for him, as if he was old and feeble. But he raised no complaint as he pressed through the gap, loose skin dragging back along his flanks as he passed between the fence boards.

Then, he slowed, suddenly assailed by waves of nostalgia. He hadn't entered this back yard since Lady and her family had all departed for the war. His gaze wandered over to the greenhouse, behind which he and Jock had once attempted to offer comfort and advice to a bewildered, saddened Lady. Then he glanced towards the gate, through which that rogue, that no-account, dishonorable mongrel had entered their lives for the first time. He almost came to a halt when the memory of watching a litter of puppies frolic in the snow for the first time. It hadn't taken long for their parents to get drawn in as well. The memory of happier times brought a slow, broad smile to the old hound's face.

Abruptly, he shook his head and snorted, forcing himself back to the present. They had a job to do, and time wasn't on their side. He resumed his brisk pace, and halted only when he stood on the back porch, facing the doggie door. He hid his dismay at how short it was, and glanced down at Scamp.

"You had best head on in first, and take a sniff around. Make certain Jim is still asleep," he stated. It felt strange, to be about to enter through the doggie door like this. All of his previous visits had seen him enter through the front door, accompanied by an inviting welcome from Jim Dear himself. Speaking of the man, if he was already awake, and up and moving, then this mission would be over before it began.

Scamp had fallowed the bloodhound through the fencepost, shadowing him up the steps to the back door. He had looked up when Trusty suggested him takeing a quick sniff around. To which the mongrel nodded his head, and carefully passed through the doggie door.  Making sure to keep the flap from flopping loudly back and forth.

It was a strange sensation to be sneaking through his own house. Not like this was the first time of course. Puppy-hood games of hide and seek, and hide and "don't take a bath" ( and perhaps "Hide and don't get yelled at by mom or pop") had toned Scamp to knowing where all the good nicks and crannies where. He moved across the kitchen, his paws seeming to glide across the floor soundlessly as he slide under the kitchen table and amongst the legs of the chairs.

He poked his head and shoulders through the double hinged doorway, and raised one torn ear. Listening. For a few seconds all he could distinctly hear was the sound of the grandfather clock. But after a minute, he found what he was searching for. Just barley noticeable was the soft wheezing of Jim Dear as he slumbered. Scamp's master was still in bed, sound asleep.

It was Sunday after-all.

The dog returned to the kitchen, just as carefully. It would be his luck to loose concentration now and ram headlong into a chair or make some other likewise bang that would awake the man upstairs. When he reached the doggie door, her poked his head through, the door itself resting on his crown.

"It's all clear. Jim Dear is still asleep." A soft chuckled escaped the dog's maw. "Like I told yah, He never wakes up before noon on a Sunday!"

While Scamp was inside, the old hound's gaze once again swept across the snow-covered yard, lost in his memories. When he'd first come to Marceline, he'd been rather put out by having been retired. While he had to admit (privately, at least) that his sense of smell was starting to fade, he had still resented being considered unfit. But Jock, then Lady, had entered his life, and he'd found himself settling in. He still remembered the first time he'd met Lady. How small, but bright, she had been. It hadn't taken long at all for him to warm up to the pup.

He shook himself out of the past when Scamp spoke up, letting him know it was time to act. He regarded the doggie door with weary resignation, then hunkered down, grimacing as he shouldered his way through the low entrance. His back scraped along the top of the door, making his skin slide with the movement, and he grunted softly when he cleared it, stretching as he stood up and sniffed the air.

Her scent. Still clear as ever to his still-sharp nose. As were the scents of her children, her humans, Jock, and...him. He had to stifle a snarl as he sniffed.

He paused where he was, half-expecting to hear her paws padding across the floor, to hear her voice raised in kind greeting. But, instead, the expected, dreaded silence greeted him, broken only by the clock ticking, and the faint sounds of Jim Dear, asleep upstairs. He padded slowly forward, carefully making no sound, as if even the slightest noise would be disrespectful. The house was much as it had been before, the last time he'd been inside. Now, faced with the empty house which seemed to have lost some vital part of its existence, it was fully dawning on him that he would never see Miss Lady ever again.

Mission momentarily forgotten, he padded out of the kitchen, and into the salon, guided by memories. He sat down, facing the place where a Christmas tree once stood, a little over a year ago, his mind's eye seeing a happy family of dogs. He almost felt the small feet of one of Lady's daughters trying to scamper up his back. He wondered if this was what it was like, for a parent to outlive a child. While he had never really viewed himself as a father towards Lady, they had been family nonetheless. He should have been the first one of them to pass. Not her.

He abruptly rose to his feet, armoring himself in his current mission, forcing himself to focus. He'd have time later to reminisce. He looked around, blinking a few times as it dawned on him that he didn't know where the letters were. "Now, uh, where, uh, where did you say those missives were?" he asked softly.

Scamp raised an eyebrow as he watched the older dog seem to stare somberly into space. to him, it seemed as if Trusty's mind was no longer there with them, but rather focusing deeply on some small detail or matter which he had found. In his own describable way, Scamp understood. Meany a moment had he stolen to think back upon the past year. To things which he had longer to see, yet knew could no longer be.

He recognized the silent mourn. While he had begun to move past the death of his mother, he saw his uncle just beginning to cast himself into that long road of silent destitute. Silently, he stood by and patently waited. No longer the small puppy that one romped about playfully, instead having matured into a young dog who had seen to much to not respect the moment.

He was almost startled when the bloodhound abruptly stood. The sudden motion seemingly sharp.

"Uh...right." He cast his gaze around the parlor. eyes darting across the sofa, pillows, Darling's rocking chair, over to the writing desk with it's pins and inks sitting before the roll up case. he padded over to the chair that stood before it, and placed his forepaws on the seat. In one good swoop he pulled himself atop the chair, and placing his forepaws across the desktop began nosing through the pages that sat before him.

It wasn't long before the missive became apparent. A small bundle of parchment, wrapped tight with string and sealed with the town seal, beautifully rendered in wax. Scamp gingerly clamped his jaws around a corner of the packet, and pulled it off the desk. Now for the hard part, getting back to the floor without making too much noise. He turned around, and slide down to his belly, letting his hind legs hit the floor first. As he slid down to the rich carpet, he felt a giddy smirk coming to his maw. Sneaking around, climbing on the furniture, putting his paws on the writing desk...if only part of this mission included chewing on a hat!

However, that moment of "Wild Dog" mentality quickly vanished as he placed the missive before his uncle feet. Too much was at stake to get careless and muck about.

"I think this is it...dunno how we're supposed to get into it."