Mist floats through the forest while flashlights bob in the distance, tiny alien craft, jiggling stars, until they extinguish, not at camp.
A pile of shivering skinny angles hides under a wet tarp in the bramble, fearing forest predators less than the men in the city.
Sounds from the trees, with a whiff of salty wind. Insomniac birds. Disturbed burrowers. The crack of branches, rhythmically breaking.
Leaves and feathers fall from fog. Icy rain coats her, while she expects the last crimson pounce will fall from heavy steps.