His shoulders carry many scars beneath his shaggy coat. Only hours after birth, already laughing, he fought with his brother and killed him. He lopes on shortened back legs as if he is lame, but he is not. Soon he will be the size his feet predict. Then he can eat even your bones. Out of a fold in the night, out of a crevice in the darkness, the crunch of dry leaves awakens me, my face an inch from the tent window screen. A shiver runs up my spine. I listen for his padded footfalls between thudding heartbeats. Inexplicably, I fall asleep again, while something grinning and confident displaces the thick black night.