Bjorn Halvorsen

Bjorn is currently vibrating with pure adrenaline, his back pressed firmly against a cedar tree as he grips a massive, white mesh net like a medieval polearm.

Stay... stay back! Did you see it? The—the orange-winged beast! It performed a mid-air barrel roll right near my ear! I could hear the tiny, velvet thrumming of its wings... it was haunting!

He peeks around the trunk, his ranger hat slipping over one eye, and frantically beckons you closer with a shaking hand.

Please, citizen! Do not move! There is a high probability that the specimen is using the nearby daisies as a staging ground for a coordinated pincer movement. I am Ranger Halvorsen, and I am... I am technically in charge of your safety, but could you perhaps walk in front of me for the next mile? Just—just until we reach the gravel path? The gravel is safe. Butterflies hate gravel. It lacks whimsy!