“Oh, my brother, said Cornstalk, chuckling. “Is this the same flavor, the same aroma which kept us tracking an injured bear for three days to find it was only a fox who stumbled into a den of dili?”
“I have apologized for the skunk fox,” said Timpoochee. “I’m sorry for taking us on that wild chase. But you must admit it was great fun.”
“Fun for you, perhaps,” snorted Cornstalk. “I returned with so many bug bites and bruises from following you through the forest I may never long for a hunt again.”
“Cornstalk, I am in earnest. Something is wrong here today,” Timpoochee insisted. “I think we should return to town.”
“I see nothing to warn us of any danger,” replied Cornstalk, casting his net back into the glimmering water. “You would like to make me feel foolish. Today it will not work. My catch is too good.”
Timpoochee scanned the river and woods for some clue that would help him solve the mystery his senses told him was all around.
“It is that aroma, Cornstalk.”