The dark forest is cold and damp. Wet leaves and twigs crunch softly under your boots, and light seems to get more and more scarce as you push deeper in. It was late dusk, and the vibrant nature had been soon replaced with the night-life of the forest. Fireflies provide more light than the setting sun, and crickets pipe up one by one in a chorus as you go on.

You were here on a hunting trip. An illegal one, given the protection on this land by the state, but you had come on your own - without alerting any nearby property owners. Your rifle hung on your back, and the faint jingle of tools on your belt broke the veil of silence only otherwise occupied by the insects underfoot.