Trees black against the blue of night
Making dim much needed starlight
Fumbling to find the well hewn path
Leading to our camp
Without a lamp of any sort
Guided only by earth’s polar pull
Me and my pack of scared girls
Scramble through briarwood
A snarl rises through the gloom
Followed by awful hissing
So close to our legs, Raccoons
Fighting for territory
Our pace quickens, nearly to a run
Cracking sticks and punctures to skin
Ripping open tent flaps
Falling into safety
Good story, well told. I can relate. Brava!