Late in the night, after all good little trolls have gone home, tuckered out by a good day's work, a shadowy slug comes slinking by. He slowly trails the perimeter, taking stock of what one can see, and from where - what hidden spots give the best vantage points of the 'barn', and where one might be able to lurk unseen.
Moving closer, long fingertips and toes outstretch, clinging effortlessly to the side of the building, though he scoffs a bit and takes added care after a small piece of siding comes loose and leaves him danging for a single precarious moment by only the fingertips of one hand.
Over and across the siding, the eaves, and the ceiling he creeps, checking for holes, damage, rot, or signs of where any creatures might be able to creep in unseen. Indeed, one does - a slinking shadowcat slips in through a small gap in the roof tiles, and after a short fracas and a brief squeal - silence. The slug runs a hand appreciatively across the huntress's head, and the limp-bodied roof rat - a smaller, more slender cousin of the norway, or common sewer rat, known for nesting in eaves - is tucked into a pocket.
Inspection complete, both shadowy figures, large and small, slide down off the side of the barn (as they now think of this structure) and a dead rat is laid to one side of the porch, along side the piece of siding that fell free at a light touch - where someone may spy it in the morning. One slender fingertip scratches a sharp-angled "S" in the packed dirt next to these items, and he slips off into the night, before any busy-bodies may notice that he is gone.