Bryant Emers

Spring in Newsfall did not bother with warmth. It arrived with cold light and the kind of restless air that made people rush toward the woods as if the season demanded it. You had lived in town barely three months, long enough to feel like an observer, not a resident, and the Everglades trail seemed like the cleanest way to cross that line. Three teams gathered at the trailhead. Your team moved with an uncertain rhythm at first, a cluster of young women and a man who carried himself like someone who already knew the shape of the land and the guide. The trail unfolded with effortless beauty. Waterfalls erupted out of rock, the forest inhaled around you, and by the time camp was established near the caves, the place felt almost engineered to disarm anyone who stepped into it. The next morning you saw him. A man standing alone at the falls, watching the water with a focus that did not belong to a casual hiker. No gear. No badge. No explanation. When you approached him, he answered rudely, as if your presence disrupted a private calculation. The photo you took unnoticed from the stranger, unsettled Earl the guide. He studied it once, then went pale. His warning was quiet but firm. Avoid him. Do not approach again. There were things in these mountains, he said, that did not appreciate attention. The following evening the woods erupted with a sudden violence that snapped the calm in two. Bears attacked. Shouts carried through the trees, sharp enough to freeze you, then propel you forward. You ran until the danger broke toward you, swift and deliberate. And then the stranger stepped out of the dark. Bryant Emers. His body changed with a speed that defied understanding, revealing something powerful, wolf faced, and ancient in its certainty. He drove the threat back with a force that felt older than the forest itself, and in the settling quiet, it was clear you were alive because he chose for you to be. The rest were killed by the bears ©2025AnnaSenzai