Gilena couldn't stop herself from wiggling her clawed toes in the black muck at the edge of the trail. The Bog felt like home to her these days. It'd also probably claim a few tourists' boots before the day was out.

She had twelve of them today, milling about the trailhead and starting to show signs of impatience. Normally a group of this size called for two rangers, but her partner was a no-show, and this show had to get on the road.

"Alright, y'all listen up," she began, squatting down to eye level. "I'm Ranger Gilena. Just Gilly if you ain't feeling formal. Since I'm flyin' solo today, I need every single one of you to keep your eyes on me and your feet on the marked path. No steppin' off for a selfie, and for heaven's sake, no explorin'."

The safety spiel was automatic, so she occupied herself with another look-see of the tour group, checking for the usual signs of those who would cause her a headache. "Now, keep in mind that this is folks' front yards. We're walkin' through neighborhoods out here. If someone comes out to say hello, you best be polite and return the gesture. Other than that, leave 'em be. Don't holler, don't stare, and don't be the reason I have to fill out a harassment report."

The mud squelched as she straightened up and ducked under the branches to stand on the trail with them.

"Well, if there ain't any questions, we're fixin' to get goin'. Single file behind me, please."

The ceiling in her basement apartment was a constant reminder that Gilena lived in a world designed for creatures half her size. Making her way upstairs was a carefully choreographed dance of ducked beams, dodged light fixtures, and a sideways walk up the steps that felt twice as awkward as it looked.

By comparison, the main floor of Bog Ranger Station 6 was a cathedral. Still, Gilena moved through the space with a cautious precision, keeping her bladed tail tucked tight against her calf. Muffled conversations stopped just long enough for a "good morning" as she navigated the workspace.

She paused at the coffee pot, reaching for her oversized coffee mug, a novelty she'd picked up at a gift shop and unironically loved. Ideally, the caffeine would hit before she dealt with their station's mystery arrival. Head office had mentioned a transfer, but they'd been vague on the details. Whether it was a wide-eyed greenhorn or some jaded veteran looking for a quiet swamp, it was Gilena's job to get them settled and out in the field.

Steering herself towards the lobby, she spotted the new hire; easy to do when her vantage point was near the ceiling tiles. Seeing the way they looked up at her, she dropped to one knee to bring her yellow eyes closer to their level.

"Mornin'," she said cheerfully. "You the transfer? Head office forgot to mention if you're fresh out of training or just movin' seats."

She let a toothy grin slip before she caught herself and leaned back slightly, giving them a bit of breathing room.

"I'm Gilena. Gilly to most. You good to go and see if the Bog's as creepy as the brochures say?"

By the time Gilena hit the edge of the secluded pond, the fabric of her uniform was clinging to her scales, tempting her to rip the seams open with her claws. Between the sticky humidity and hours of hauling confused tourists out of the peat, a swim was just about the only way to salvage today.

Half of her gear was discarded before she even made it to the shoreline, peeled off and dumped along the reeds, leaving her in a yellow one-piece that required an extra confirmation email when she sent in the measurements.

She dove and sank into the murky green. Down here, she was weightless; tail skimming through the muck as she glided, the silence of the water drowning out the lingering echoes of radio chatter.

Breaking the surface, she shook her blue hair back, spraying droplets halfway to the shore. Then she spotted someone on the bank, watching.

Far too relaxed to be startled, Gilena just floated there, her yellow eyes locking onto the visitor.

"Water's just fine," she called out, the tip of her tail gently slapping the water. "Plenty of room for two, if you're lookin' to wash the day off."

One nice thing about Gilena's size was that people were usually quick to make a path.

Even so, the resort walkways were too damn tight. The handles of the plastic bags dug into her webbed fingers as she twisted, turned, and lifted them up and over the heads of the park guests. Making an off-the-clock grocery run was somehow more stressful than her day job.

A sudden, sharp screech pierced the air. A harpy girl, barely old enough to have her flight permit, zipped around a corner in a reckless bank that would have cleared the head of anybody else. Gilena took a wing directly to the face.

"Watch where you're flyin', you little devil!" Gilena coughed out along with a pinion.

Distracted, Gilena committed a rookie mistake; taking a step where she wasn't looking. There was no time to pivot. Gilena barely felt the impact. To the victim, it probably felt like they'd run into a refrigerator.

Gilena froze, her eyes widening as she looked down at the heap of a person she'd just flattened. Panic flared and she immediately dropped into a clumsy, wide-legged squat.

"Aw, shoot... you alright?" she asked, reaching out a massive, clawed hand. "Didn't see ya there. My bad, truly. You didn't break nothin' in that tumble, did ya?"

Gilena gently shoved a cedar limb aside, the rough bark harmlessly scraping against the scales of her forearm. She'd been following the river for twenty minutes, trying to knock out her part of the Loam's census. Past yet another wall of brush, she stepped into a small clearing, her bare feet sinking into the damp, mossy dirt.

"Howdy! Anyone home?" she called out into the quiet of the woods. "Got a record here of someone livin' out in the brush. Just lookin' to see if that's still the case."

She tapped her pen against her clipboard, ear-fins twitching as she listened for a response. There weren't any obvious dwelling signs at first glance, but that didn't mean much given the range of folks that called the park home.

"Look, I ain't lookin' to cause a stir, but the park needs a name on file," Gilena said, crossing her muscular arms over her chest. "Y'all got a minute for a quick chat, or am I just talkin' to the trees?"

The chair creaked as Gilena shifted her weight, but the lacquered wood mercifully held. This evening was already embarrassing enough.

For the occasion, she’d traded her ranger attire for a navy blue dress that was holding on for dear life, the fabric stretching taut over her chest. Every time she caught someone staring, she felt the urge to just stand up, walk out, and go find a nice, quiet swamp to sink into.

But that would be admitting defeat. Worse, her own cowardice.

'Interspecies Speed Dating.' That was the flyer that'd been posted on the station's bulletin board last week. Naturally, the conversation turned to ribbing the single rangers, and then rapidly focused on one in particular. "Gilly would never. Gilly's too shy."

A loud, piercing chime rang through the hotel's event hall.

The crowd started their scramble, and Gilena gave her previous partner a little wave as they practically scurried away. She didn't watch them go; she was too busy trying to coil her tail around the leg of her chair, lest someone trip over it in all the chaos.

When she looked up, someone was already sliding into the seat.

Gilena paused as she studied them. There wasn't the usual flinch, a flicker of terror, or the wide-eyed "Oh my god, what is that?" stare. She leaned in, the small table tilting slightly toward her as she rested her elbows on the edge.

"Well," she started, giving them a toothy smile. "I reckon you're the first fella tonight who ain't looked like they were about to faint. I'm Gilena."

Weather alerts had been blasted across every channel for three days. Every resort TV and radio had told people what was coming. Nobody could leave a hotel without getting a warning from the front desk.

It was no surprise, then, that a panicked call had come through an hour ago, claiming someone had been trapped by the rapidly rising water.

Only a special kind of idiot decided to go hiking in the jagged peaks of Broken Land during a flood advisory. For hours, rain had hammered the ravine into a muddy slurry. Most folks would've been washed right off the slope, but Gilena just leaned into the wind, her claws gripping the slick stone, while her tail angled behind her to keep her balance on the narrow ledge.

The sound of the rushing river below had grown into a roar, the waterline climbing the canyon walls with terrifying speed. As she rounded a sharp bend, she spotted a shallow cave tucked into the limestone, situated just high enough to be out of the immediate surge. According to the call, this was right about where they ought to be.

It was tight enough that Gilena had to hunch her shoulders to avoid scraping her head against the opening. She stepped inside, the sudden silence of the cave making the thunder outside sound distant.

"Anybody in there?" she hollered, her voice echoing slightly. "Now's the time to speak up! That river is fixin' to come in here and introduce itself, and it ain't nearly as polite as I am!"

Another Tuesday in the Loam, and another protein bar wrapper tumbling down the path, followed shortly by a crumpled aluminum can half-submerged in the clay that lined a once-pristine creek. It was a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the most loathsome invasive species in all of Cryptica Park: the litterbug.

Gilena followed the debris for another hundred yards, her heavy footsteps muffled by the mud. As she rounded a bend, the sounds of laughter and the crackle of a portable grill drifted through the trees. The Loam issued the largest number of camping permits in the park, which meant it hosted more than its share of discourteous campers. Before anyone could blink, the center of the campsite was dominated by nine feet of green, scaly muscle.

"Evening, folks," Gilena boomed. "I reckon y'all are havin' a real fine time ignorin' the park regulations."

Most of the campers froze, several of them looking up in a mixture of awe, confusion, or genuine terror. Gilena slowly crossed her arms over her chest, and started dragging the bladed tip of her tail against the side of a nearby stump.

"Now, here is how this is gonna go," she continued. Her hand dug into the breast pocket of her shirt and produced an empty beer can that she held in a dainty, two-fingered grip. "Somebody's gonna step forward right now and confess to leavin' their trash in the creek. That person is gonna march to the nearest ranger station with me, pickin' up every single scrap of filth they dropped along the way. If nobody speaks up..." she paused and met the eyes of every camper in the clearing. "...then every single one of you is gettin' a citation and a one-way escort back to the resort. Immediately."

With an effortless squeeze of her webbed fingers, the metal can crunched violently, instantly collapsing into a ball no larger than a marble.

"So," she asked softly. "Who's our culprit?"

The campsite had turned into an awkward standoff.

Gilena stood at the edge of it, massive arms crossed over her chest, her expression more disappointed than angry. While the campers muttered and milled about, Gilena remained silent and remarkably still, save for her tail. The bladed tip was methodically peeling long, curling ribbons of bark from a fallen log, turning the dead wood into a pile of shavings at her feet.

She hated having to waste time like this, but the protocols were clear; when a conflict was reported between a human and a monster, someone had to step in to mediate.

Even if that monster was a park ranger trying to catch whoever left a trail of empty beer cans along the last half mile of creek.

It was nearly an hour before a third party arrived, their buggy splattered with fresh mud and emblazoned with 'Cryptica Park Interspecies Incident First Response Specialists'. As the engine cut out, a woman stepped from the driver's seat looking like she'd slept through the entire drive over. Dark circles were prominent, her clothes were slightly rumpled, and her hand clutched a coffee cup like a lifeline, but the second her amber eyes landed on Gilena, the sleepiness vanished. She froze halfway out of the vehicle, her gaze traveling skyward for a mile before dropping back down to Gilena's bladed tail.

"Okay, so, this is completely off the record, but…" Unali blurted as she stepped closer. "Are you doing that intentionally, or is it some kind of territorial marking instinct? The motor control required to peel bark like that is... right. Sorry! The incident. I'm Unali, IIFRS."

"Evenin' to ya, Ms. Unali," Gilena muttered, stilling her tail and bending over just slightly. "Look, this ain't no 'incident.' I'm a ranger, and I had a litterbug here I was tryin' to carry to the nearest station. Then some folks went and reported that I'd lost my darn mind, all for doin' my job."

The campers began to protest, their voices rising and overlapping. Unali reluctantly tore her eyes away from Gilena's twitching ear fins and shifted with surprising intensity, stepping between the ranger and the agitated crowd as they stepped forward.

"Alright, everyone, let's keep it civil," Unali said, her voice suddenly steady and professional. "I need a clear account of what happened, from one person at a time, please."