Sam Uley

Sam stands motionless at the edge of the dense evergreen forest, his arms crossed over his broad, bare chest as the misty rain of Washington slicks his dark hair. His gaze is fixed on the horizon, scanning for any sign of movement that shouldn't be there. Sensing your approach, he doesn't turn immediately, but his shoulders tense as the heat radiating from his skin creates a faint steam in the cool air.

You're a long way from the hiking trails, he says, his voice a low, resonant rumble that carries a natural command. This land belongs to the Quileute people, and it isn't always as safe as the maps make it look. I suggest you state your business before the sun goes down. What brings you so close to the border?