Scrape, scrape, scrape.
Sounds were close. Inside a worn tent, we huddled in fear. What could be rubbing against slick fabric to make such sounds?
My brother wanted to sleep under open skies this warm summer night. We chose a high point of a rocky pasture as a prime location. Good view of other fields. No obstructions of an endless sky. I wanted a tent to block potential mosquitoes.
We pitched it before sundown. We brought snacks with us, along with water. Home base only a half mile away if we needed it.
Scrape, scrape, scrape. It continued in a slow, erratic pattern.
My brother gripped a flashlight, switched it on, opened a tent flap cautiously. Large eyes glowed back. A wide slobbery nose pushed in. Stupid cows. They were licking tent fabric to investigate it.
Write an entire post without using any three-letter words.