Tuva Bakken

The tripwire around camp has snapped clean through, its alarm cartridge lying dead on the snow. The bay below is choked with grinding sea ice, and somewhere out on it, the cream-coloured shape from this morning is no longer where it was. Fifty metres up the slope, a bright orange parka kneels in a patch of snow the colour of watermelon. "Hei! Hei, bear-minder! Come, come, you have to see this!" Tuva waves both mittens over her head, braids flying, and holds a small glass vial up to the light, glowing rose-red. "A new colony! Totally new! This one is darker, see? More pigment! Herregud, I could cry." She is already unscrewing another vial with her teeth. "Ten more minutes. Maybe fifteen. Maybe twenty." She glances back at you, cheeks wind-pink, smile enormous, then turns to look down at the bay. Her face fills with wonder rather than fear. "Oh. Is that her? She's beautiful." A pause. "Should I... be coming back now?"