Donatello had just finished with the meat when he heard a faint, faint sound. Something rustling. It was behind him. Distant, but...

Without warning Donatello grabbed his knife - leaving the sharktooth spear he'd worked on before the fish - and quickly rolled into the makeshift hut. He was careful to avoid the center of it, instead hising out in a corner, ducking into his shell and digging into the sand as best as he could. There - quietly - he could observe what was going on, and if necessary, act.