Clyde hates to do so, but he has to admit it. He’s lost. In the woods. The woods of the park he is a park ranger for. How does that even happen, one might ask? Snow. Lots of snow. That, and a skittish coyote running off with his backpack, leading to him chasing it down a snow covered pathway and into the nearby valley where he eventually lost track of the canine and realised he had no idea where he was.

He’d tried to use his skills as a survivalist to find his way back; land markers, the sun’s direction, etc etc, but without his backpack, he quickly figured out he was essentially stranded with nothing but the clothes on his back and the things in his pockets. Those things being a pen, a switchblade, some paperclips and a small box of bandaids. Clyde mentally smacks himself for leaving without his phone in such a hurry, but in his defence, that backpack of his contained most of his valuables that he didn’t exactly want to be torn up by a hungry coyote trying to rummage for food.

Clyde glances up at the skyline, noting the sun’s low position in the sky. An annoyed huff escapes past his lips, the warmth visible in the cool, crisp air. He shoves his hands into his pockets and shivers, taking a moment to shut his eyes and groan before trudging on through the snow in search for a path or visible landmark. He’ll freeze out here if he doesn’t get back in time for the sun to go down. Shit. Why him?