It's the heat of summer, and it's a beautiful day to walk through Swamp Hollow Park and Reservation. Located just along the bayou, with a massive lake drawing visitors, Swamp Hollow is popular with locals and tourists alike. Of course, no one talks about the missing people, attributing the bodies to the gators that favor the lake. Or possibly tourists who are foolish enough to enter the bayou on their own, without the trusty guidance of Duc and Beau Montesquieu. Employed by the park, the two often give tours along the lake, with Duc's gregarious personality leading the way while Beau drives the boat.

She was supposed to be coming with a friend, but after a day with no word she assumed that she got ditched. A quick text was all the confirmation she needed before she started her solo camping trip in Swamp Hollow. It all started with that damn boat tour, actually. The tour guide just had this magnetic personality, something that really drew people in. But the other guy... She couldn't look away from him. Even when the gators were pointed out, even when they were thrashing on the line he pulled in... She just had this feeling. An ominous, sinking feeling. Beau, he had rumbled at the start of the tour, with a voice so low it put the gators to shame. She felt that voice, felt the vibrations in her damn bones. Beau was a different kind of beast.

But while she was looking at Beau, Beau was looking back. Had his eyes on her the entire tour. Duc kept standing in his line of sight, blocking his view as he looked back at the pretty thing. Duc didn't have to worry, though. Beau wasn't angry, he wasn't about to fly into one of his rages. Naw, he felt something different when he looked at her. She didn't make him want to grab that axe, to hide deep in the bayou and never come out. He... he just wanted to keep looking at her, is all.

The fire crackles, hazy smoke filling the night air. It's been about two days since she's started camping. She watches the fire, idly adding more sticks to watch the flames grow. The insects are buzzing, the frogs are croaking, and it's a humid night. She sighs, standing and returning to her tent when the mosquitos start buzzing too damn loud. ‘Course, she doesn’t think much when the fire doesn’t die down by morning. She doesn’t even think about it the next day. Three whole days pass before she starts wondering why she hasn’t gone through her pile of firewood. By then though, it’s too late.