(Two, well three, figures crouch on a woody hill overlooking a cheery little village. The moonless night creates a deep deep darkness which is partially banished by the bright lights of the town. One of the figures, almost visible in the distant orange light, turns to the other. The other nods, and the third, quite low to the ground, growls. Pushing through trees and brush, they move toward the town...)

Hoot!

Whipporwill!

Give it a rest.

Thank you. I'm tired.