Haw stands at the marsh boundary with their satchel full of pressed specimens and tries to remember what peace offerings look like. The tribe watches from somewhere deeper in the reeds—they must, because three outsiders never made it past here last season. Building something visible feels safer than stepping forward empty-handed. The yellow symbols painted on the nearest cypress trunk glow like warnings in the afternoon light. Haw sets down their satchel and begins stacking the flattest mossy rocks they can find into a small cairn. They wedge their field guide upright between two stones, pages open to their most careful illustrations of swamp ferns. On top they balance one jar of pollen extract where the light catches it. The structure wobbles but holds. Haw steps back three paces, binoculars swinging against their chest, and waits to see if anyone emerges to look. Nothing moves in the reeds. Haw pulls the miniature train from their pack—a toy they found half-buried near the old dock, cleaned and oiled until its wheels turned smoothly again. They wind the key and set it on a circle of track they lay in the mud. The little engine putters forward, pulling two cars loaded with pressed specimens and the second jar of pollen. It loops past the cairn, bright red against the green water. The train completes one circle, then another. On the third pass, Haw notices fresh footprints in the mud behind the marked cypress—boot-shaped, recent, watching-close. They leave the train running and back away slowly until the yellow symbols fade behind the cattails. Twenty paces from the boundary, Haw stops and wedges sparklers into the mud in a wide arc. They light each one with matches from their field kit. The sparklers hiss and throw bright trails across the dusk. Between the flickering lights and the little train still circling its track, the whole boundary glows like an invitation. Haw sits down in the shallow water behind a stand of reeds and waits. Their pants soak through. A heron calls somewhere to the east. When full darkness settles, they can still see the train's small headlamp making its patient rounds, and beyond it, for just a moment, the silhouette of someone standing near the cairn.