Green One lumbered awkwardly through the forest, struggling with his disproportionate adolescent body to maintain an even gait. He heard the snap of a twig ahead of him and crouched down, inching behind a moss-covered rock and scanning for the source of the noise. Rashida was on a camping trip with her children and grandchildren, and as the most experienced among them went ahead to scout for clearings and possible signs of any bear activity: leaning trees lacking bark from use as a scratching post, footprints, freshly broken tree limbs. She turned back and gave an all-clear whistle before once again trudging forth past the statue-still Green One, who was now watching for the others heading his way and wondering if he’d be able to remain quiet enough to avoid alerting the woman ahead and camouflaged enough to avoid detection from those on their way? Before he could make a decision a voice from behind startled him. “You’re real”, the old woman said, almost in disbelief. The olive-haired Sasquatch turned and stood, he couldn’t understand the sounds coming from her mouth, but her facial expressions and body language told him she was not a threat. She had caught a glimpse of a small one years before, as a child on a school field trip and never told anyone because she never knew if it was real or imagined – she had always been told Bigfoot had brown or black hair. The two silently parted ways, never realizing they had met before.