Consider the quiet of a suburban night after storm season, in a tamed pocket of nature kept just wild enough for the little ones to explore.
There are no wolves in these woods. The creatures are skittish, docile, allowed to exist by merit of their meekness. A rabbit will eat its own young, but it won’t eat ours.
Don’t worry. Adolescent inquiry will always feed the food chain.
Late at night, they become hunters, their flashlight beams cutting through the darkness in search of prey.
It’s all fun and games, until the quiet sets in. There are not even crickets in this man made marvel, or if there are, they are too scared to sing.
There is nothing but muffled breathing, punctuated by the occasional shout of discovery. And then more silence as the search continues.
Soon enough, the players give up, having had their fill of ancient urges. They wander home into the warmth and light of modernity.
But there was no danger, except what they made for themselves. What a strange thing to miss, the cold dread of knowing that carnivores prowled the same night as you did.
Pippa Russell is an aspiring screenwriter, avid science fiction and fantasy fan, and the co-host of Adapt or Die, a podcast about adaptations. You can find her on Twitter at @russell_writes.