Alone, I sit silently searching for poachers. Something murmurs at the far edge of hearing. An underground spring, or perhaps a wood nymph? This rifle seems an intrusion in this magical space, but there are bears, and bears care not for nymphs. They feast on meat, not magic. Their hunger is undeterred by noble work. I don’t trust bear spray, or the badge in my back pocket, to stop a hungry bruin. Behind me the rustling of leaves triggers my back hairs to tingle. I slip off the safety. Darkness arrives with a furious rush and a crunch of teeth.