“Hey, that one was right there when I left!” Peter said, sounding rather confused. He flew over to where the bag was hanging from a tree and picked at it a little. “It’s got a hole in the bottom! Something must have torn it!” He called back.
It was about this time a certain familiar ticking noise could be heard rather quietly at first, but slowly getting louder as it got closer. After all, this was Crocodile creek.
He was about to order a rowboat lowered again to investigate, but the words caught in his throat. The same dread that always followed hearing that sound gripped his chest, and already small pupils shrank further. He was silent, gaze flicking about in an attempt to spot the source, but failing to find it.
Try to block it out, he told himself, try to focus… “Well, there’s hardly any point in my collecting an empty bag,” the pirate observed, mustache twitching once. “You’re closer and in the air, is there any sign of where she went?”
Peter flew about the tree, but didn’t see much of anything. “It’s kinda hard to make anything out with all the crocodile prints in the mud.” He said, floating back to the ship with the empty bag. At closer inspection it could be noted it looked like it hadn’t so much been torn as chewed.
This whole time the ticking noise had been getting closer and closer till eventually even Peter finally noticed it. He poked his head over the side of the ship and raised an eyebrow at what was below. A small sleeping mouse on the back of the infamous crocodile. “Heh, I Found her.”