"What the matter, Figan?" asked Hyde in alarm.
"Don't worry, Hyde," soothed Figan. "I'm just a little jumpy 'cause you scared me."

Hyde chortled appreciatively. Again Figan's thoughts strayed back to the humans. Why was he was thinking so much about them now? Still nursing his fears, Figan turned to Hyde. "You know, Hyde, we're fortunate that humans haven't found us. If humans ever come to our glen, we'd better hide. If they see us, they will hunt us down."
"I not remember humans too well, Figan," Hyde responded with interest."I wonder what they look like."
"You'll be better off if you never see a human again," retorted Figan sharply, ending the conversation.

The sun's warm rays baked into their fur. They basked contentedly in its radiance. Spontaneously a poem blossomed like popcorn in Figan's head. His usual half-smile broadened. "I've just thought up a new poem, Hyde. Would you like to hear my poem?"
"Wish I could make up a poem," grumbled Hyde. He muttered to himself for a while. Finally, curiosity won out. "What your poem about, Figan?"
Figan smiled happily and began to recite

"I like the last line!" Hyde responded enthusiastically. "Tell it to me again, Figan."

Suddenly Figan froze, the poem forgotten. His eyes swept up the slope across the creek. Something was there, something moving amidst the trees on the crest of his glen, something that didn't belong. Figan's ears strained and now picked up a faint whisper of voices.

"Is this a new game?" asked Hyde with interest.
"No, Hyde," Figan responded grimly. "I'm afraid this is an old game. Humans have come to our glen."