His bright figure loomed out of the gloom of the shadows. His nostrils flared as his bloodshot eyes stared my down. My accomplice bolted as the creature approached. He sent a thorn the size of a tree into my shoulder from his bee like tail, his symbol of his ownership. The wound burned as blood trickled down my side. In the deepest voice I could to make me sound superior through the horrific pain I defiantly screamed, “Do you know what happens to a bee after it has stung? It dies!” At that moment a shotgun fired. He came back.