The poachers’ stories were always the same: impoverished gangs in faded military garb, armed with military rifles that were pathetically inadequate at killing a beast such as a rhinoceros.

In the past, when trophy hunting was legal, a properly equipped game hunter would have used a high powered, large calibre rifle to take down the creature, with one carefully placed shot, but these thugs with their aging machine guns would need a close-range approach to rain onto the peaceful animal, a hail of bullets from all directions at once. The death would be terrifying, prolonged and agonising.

Bette clicked the little arrow on the screen to continue scrolling through the pictures she took earlier that afternoon.

Each one in turn, told in details the events which had unfolded, 2 maybe 3 days previously.

The tracks of the frail calf as it had hidden under its mother’s belly, the short snorts of hot breath that had hit the dry dusty ground as a futile warning and the deep marks left by a heavy front foot as the female had prepared to charge as soon as she had sensed danger approaching.

Bette slammed the lid of her computer down – she was angry and frustrated, and she wanted to scream so loud but she couldn’t at the risk of disturbing her little family.

“Oh God, Tina,” she whispered. Bette had lost track of how long she had submerged herself into chasing criminals and keeping track of the dwindling rhino population – she had neglected Tina and Angelica.

Just as this thought entered her mind, she heard the soft padding of bare feet disturb the quiet; Tina had come into the room still drowsy from a half-night sleep, loose tousled strands of hair framed her face, and her eyes, still heavy with dreams, held a quiet warmth. The dim light caught the curve of her cheek, the gentle slope of her bare shoulders, giving her an effortless, unspoken beauty.

She pulled the edge of a shawl around herself, more out of habit than need, her movements slow and unhurried. A faint smile ghosted across her lips as she met her lover’s gaze—a silent acknowledgment, tender and familiar. Even half-asleep, she carried a presence that softened the room, turning the ordinary moment into something rare and luminous.