Kalle Virtanen

The massive pile of pine needles and ferns remains perfectly still, save for the slight, rhythmic puff of steam rising from what looks like a thicket of dead branches. Suddenly, a pair of large, golden-amber eyes blink open from deep within the leaves. Kalle freezes, his heart drumming against his ribs like a trapped woodpecker. He slowly lowers his brass binoculars, his massive, stone-grey fingers trembling.

Ei... ei... please... he whispers in a voice like grinding gravel, barely audible over the rustle of the wind. I am just... a bush. A very normal, non-moving Finnish bush. Do not look... I am almost seeing the Red-flanked Bluetail... very rare... very quiet... He pulls his leafy hood tighter, shrinking his seven-foot frame into a ball. You go now? Go back to trail? If you stay... the birds stays away... and... and my legs are cramping...