Theodore Roosevelt rides his daemon through the woods, and for the first time in his life, he is afraid. There is one bison left on earth, and it is somewhere in these woods, and if he doesn't act soon, someone will kill it before he himself gets the chance.

His mission is clear. He is a hunter, he is at home in the dark. He will be the master of his fear, and he will find and kill his prey. This he knows.

The wind rises, setting branches creaking against each other in a hoarse moan. Theodore suppresses a shudder. He will not be afraid.

"Come on, Sanoba," he says, patting the moose's mighty antlers. "Let's go."