RAW KINGDOM ENTERTAINMENT

                      Bandits in the Night

 Before the stroke of midnight, the forest stirred with voices of the night. First came the owl, perched in the hollow of an old linden, where she had slept through the sunlit hours. She shook awake from some gentle, whimsical dream and let out a soft, and merry giggle that rippled through the branches.
Then, from the shadowed depths, the screech owl raised his mournful cry, a voice soaked in timeless sorrow.

“Choo-o-h, ch-oo-h!” — it whispered, unseen, a phantom among the leaves.

A round-headed owl muttered to herself, while a smaller, lonely bird at the forest’s edge called in a melancholy refrain:
 “Hooh, hooh!” — as if the night itself had pressed a gentle ache upon her heart.

 At last, from the darkest reaches of the woods, came the deep, resonant voice of the great eagle owl, low and solemn, carrying through the stillness like the toll of some ancient, unseen bell. The night held its breath, and the trees leaned closer, as though to listen.

At that hour, the forest-tops glowed with a dim red, as if the rising moon had set fire to their crowns, and the shadows of the trees lay thick and ponderous upon the earth. Yoshi crouched low among the roots of the ancient oak, a strange unease stirring within him. Never before had he heard such voices drifting through the field—low, whispering, yet somehow sharp with menace.
 He did not fear the owls, nor the screeching night-birds, small hunters themselves, busy with mice and heedless of him. Yet their cries pressed upon his heart, and their glowing eyes pierced him with an alien chill. Yoshi was not afraid of them, he knew that they were small birds and would not dare to attack him. He even hated them because they interfered with his hunting of mice, since they themselves ate them too. But he was affraid of the great eagle owl, that was no joke.
 That was why, when he glimpsed his broad and silent shadow stretching over the forest, a chill ran down his spine, and fear held his tongue from warning the squirrels. The eagle owl, in its quiet wisdom, passed on, unnoticed.
 After a little while, Yoshi discerned two bluish-green flames flickering in the shadow of a gnarled tree. Instantly he knew them for the eyes of the marten. He had glimpsed that cunning creature at night, slinking through the fields near scattered villages. Sharp-toothed and sinuous, it was a predator of great danger, and the hapless squirrels were perilously exposed. Yet by the way the eerie flames slid through the undergrowth, it seemed the marten had no mind to come this way. It prowled the bushes, a silent hunter, seeking other quarry in the forest's dim and watchful heart.
 At one moment, Yoshi glimpsed her springing lightly onto a nearby tree and, without hesitation quickly climbed it. Yet, try as he might, he could not discern where she had vanished among the branches. A thought rose in him to sound the alarm, but the tree seemed too distant, and the shadow of the marten lingered in his mind; he chose instead to wait. For if he raised a cry, it might draw the creature’s keen attention to the oak where young squirrels tumbled and played.
 He craned his short neck skyward, straining toward the leafy heights, yet could not pierce the thick canopy above. Then he listened, ears twitching, hoping for the whisper of her soft leaps—but no hint of movement reached him. He told himself that the marten had passed by and felt a small surge of relief.
Unseen in the dense green, she lingered above, watching the oak from her perch. Then, with the silent cunning of one born to the trees, she slipped from branch to branch, unseen, until she reached the very oak where the young squirrels gambolled, not once touching the ground.
 A pitiful, high-pitched scream shattered the quiet of the forest. From the gnarled branches of the ancient oak above, a terrible commotion arose. Squirrels, black as the shadows beneath the trees, leapt in fright, vanishing swiftly into the dim, twisting undergrowth. Yoshi grunted and stamped with all his might, hoping the noise would send the small beast scurrying, yet the dark tangle of branches above hid the truth from his eyes.
 Then came the cry of Uncle Fuzzball, sharp and frantic, echoing through the leafy gloom. The sound struck Yoshi’s heart with icy dread—he had ignored the old squirrel’s warning. Now, tangled in misfortune of his own making, he realized that the forest itself seemed to whisper of his folly, the trees bending closer as if to witness his shame.
 He trembled, poised between flight and despair, as shadows thickened around him. Yet before his eyes could sweep the gloom, a vast and dreadful shape loomed—an owl, immense and silent, its fiery eyes glinting with a light not of this world. With a sudden, hoarse cry it vanished upward, settling upon the highest bough of the ancient oak. Another shrill scream echoed, carrying a weight of dread.
 Something landed near the tree’s gnarled roots. Heart hammering, he leapt forward and glimpsed the eyes of the squirrel, glowing like twin lanterns in the dark. A shiver ran through him; he recoiled, bristling, as the creature melted into the forest like a wraith.
 For a heartbeat all was still, save for the hushed rustle of leaves. Then came a distant, eerie chorus—a squirrel’s cry, and a whisper of wings—drifting deeper into the shadowed woods, as if the forest itself had sighed and swallowed them whole.