The trees hummed; their green leaves made the sound of a lullaby as the gentle breeze passed through them, sounding like ocean swells. Despite the recent heatwave, the air was fresh—a bird chirped in the distance, perhaps a Sitta Europaea. The detritus of dry leaves crunched under my mud-caked boot. Rays of light danced in shadows on the forest floor, scattering and shifting by the moving canopy above.

I crouched down to survey the surrounding soil. There. I saw it. Well hidden, though once in view, I could see the distinctive outline of a fist-sized pugmark. The pawprint was not old. Maybe a couple of hours. Female, by the size of it. We had just missed her.

"Hey! Jen!" My stomach lifted for more than one reason.

I trotted back in the direction of the voice.

"What's up, Dominic? Find anything?"

Dominic was fiddling with the camera trap, which was camouflaged behind a collection of boulders.

His tall built was hunched over one of the rocks. He quickly pushed up his glasses. They were sliding down the bridge of his straight nose.

"Nah, but I finally have this thing working again."

I waved my hand in front of the hidden camera, testing the motion sensor.

"Nice! That means everyone back at the center will be receiving a delightful snap of my face." I stuck out my tongue and waved again.

"What was wrong with it?"

"Probably the heatwave. That can mess with the sensor and produce some false positives." Dominic stood up and stretched, wiping dirty-blond hair from his eyes. His pecs tightened under his T-shirt, now damp with sweat.

My eyes may have lingered on the muscles for a fraction of a second too long. 

It had been unseasonably warm these past few days. Usually, the temperature rested at a perfect 23°C in the late spring months, but with weather patterns changing worldwide, bizarre fluctuations were becoming the norm.

Following Dominic's announcement, I nearly forgot my discovery.

"Oh, I found a pugmark!"

"Really?" Excitement filled his face. My chest fluttered.

"Yeah, only about eight meters beyond the thicket. We're definitely in the right territory. There could be some great shots if that camera really is fixed."

"It's definitely fixed," he half-smiled. "Hah, knew you'd find something out here. You're a native."

His remark provoked me. Not because I didn't think I was good at tracking. I was great at it. But because he said the word 'native.' I interpreted this in two ways: 'You're in your element' or 2. 'You are a native.' Which, in most aspects, was true. Indigenous blood from this land did run through my veins, except for one colossal flaw. I was not born here.

Most people are perplexed when I tell them my parents are from Russia. I am usually categorized as one of the many Asians or Asian mixes in Vancouver, and technically, yes, I am Asian. I have dark, straight brown hair and characteristically almond-shaped eyes. However, I often get called the Hawaiian colloquial term "hapa," or, since I am Canadian, an indigenous person of Canada. This is a little more accurate if one goes back by 14,500 years. Presumably, before the Bering Strait disappeared, forever separating Russia from Alaska. But okay, why not?

Yet, every once in a while, there's the individual who asks: "So, you were born in Canada, but where are you from? Like your parents?" And that is when things get complicated, because when I say 'Russia,' they stare and say: "You mean Mongolia?" "No, I mean Russia."

I explain that both my parents are Udege, an indigenous tribe in the far eastern part of Russia- in the Primorsky Krai region. However, I typically save this lecture for a. The very curious or b. The ignorant. And much to the disappointment of both parties, this is all I can tell them.

My parents never spoke of their native country. They even named me Jennifer, one of the most anglicized names I know. The only connections I have to their past were my mother's lost lullabies, sung to me as a child in her native tongue. That, and the beautifully painted scroll of a leopard, which hung in their dining room. They would never talk about it.

Something must have happened to explain why they fled their homeland, crossed the sea, and resettled in Canada. I never dared to ask.

And yet, when my Principal Investigator mentioned that she was arranging a small team to research the Amur leopard, an endangered species in its natural habitat, I leaped at the idea. This was my opportunity to study my favorite species and an excuse to explore my roots.

My parents weren't thrilled with the idea of me spending my first postdoctoral summer in the mountains of their native country. But they didn't object when I insisted, explaining that I would be publishing a paper on the inbreeding threat as well as collaborating with renowned researchers in the field. I didn't confess that to my extreme contentment, Dominic Harber, a postdoctorate, would be joining the team.

Dominic, who I'd met once before at a CITES (Convention of International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora) conference in Johannesburg, was one of the quixotic 'Clark Kent'-type researchers in my specialty of large cats.

We briefly discussed the elusive erythrocytic Panthera Pardus, aka 'strawberry' leopard, following a presentation on the subject. Shamelessly, I have been dabbling in a bit of Google stalking thereafter. He had secured a postdoctoral position at Stanford University, and to my greatest of glees, worked under my PI's collaborator.

Which brings me back to the present, two weeks into our research escapade, having yet to track down any leopards. Thanks to conservation efforts, the population was steadily rising. However, with only around 90 left, there was much to be done. So far, we had not seen a leopard, but the satellite footage was promising. 

That was until one of our best camera traps ceased functioning. These cameras, hidden all over the Land of the Leopard National Park, were initially set up by Russian research teams and had techies to deal with minor malfunctions. Though, instead of a local techie, Dominic volunteered his brainpower (due to a bachelor's degree in computer engineering), and thus allowing me a chance to leave the research center to track a Panthera Pardus Orientalis.

"Time to head back to the lab?"

Dominic interrupted my wandering thoughts.

"Err... I guess."

I was hesitant to leave the peaceful serenity of the foliage. Since we arrived at the Manchurian mixed forest, a strange land full of wondrous creatures, I felt somehow connected. More alive. The solitude and being steps away from an animal that bewitched my entire academic career enthralled my consciousness.

The Amur leopard could arguably be one of the rarest cats in the world. Nearly eradicated from the planet due to deforestation, inbreeding, and worst of all, poaching, my obsession with the animal likely emerged from a suppressed need to reconnect with my family's estranged culture. Not wanting to search for a culture explicitly I knew little of, I gravitated toward the leopard.

We began hiking back to the jeep, which was parked a good hour away. Precautions were made so we wouldn't tread on the leopard's sacred land.

Once we left the backcountry roads, the rumble and jostling of the jeep smoothed as we hit the highway. Immediately, Dominic slammed the gas pedal of our vehicle, tripling its speed. I gave him a narrow-eyed glare, as he very well knew high speeds increased the risk of injuring road-crossing animals. A young male leopard was killed by a speeding car just a few years prior—a tragic loss to the waning population.

Dominic caught my stare and slowed down. He smirked, "Don't worry, I have my eyes fixed on the road. No animals will be slain on my watch."

"Thanks," appreciative that he noticed my subtle disapproval. The wind whipped through the open window, immediately cooling the humid air and letting the sweat evaporate from my skin. We whizzed through the dense temperate trees that lined the highway.

As the jeep advanced onward toward the research center, we passed under the expansive Narvinsky tunnel. The result of over a decade of migratory research, the massive bridge was made to ensure the leopards' safety when they traversed the Razdolnoye-Khasan highway.

Sticking my head out of the window, I did my customary 'jungle call,' allowing my voice to bounce off the walls.

When I sat back down in the seat, Dominic was laughing.

"Are you going to do that every time?"

"What? It's tradition," I shrugged.

When I was a kid, I would roll down the manual windows of my parent's outdated Volvo wagon while we drove through the heavily trafficked Cassiar Connector in Vancouver. I loved hearing the echo, just audible over the car horns.

As we slowed into the small town of Barabash, I noticed a new poster showcasing our beloved cat, tacked up at the petrol station. My Russian was rusty, but I could make out the words "Safari Tour." Rolling my eyes, I must have also made an audible huff because Dominic was quick to comment.

"Not a fan of public tours?"

"I just don't want this place to be turned into a theme park. The leopards need their space. They shouldn't be disturbed. Some of the trails are already being overused."

"True, but isn't it a good thing? I mean, we need funding, and tourism can bring in a lot of revenue. If you're worried about off-roading, it should be regulated. I have no qualms as long as the laws are in place. The plausibility of tourists even seeing an Amur leopard is close to nil. Heck, I doubt that we will."

"Okay, valid point." I sulked at Dominic's reasoning. Just because his answer was justifiable didn't mean I had to agree with it. I was for the leopard, not trigger-happy tourists hoping to take a selfie.

We pulled the jeep into the relatively new facility, passing giant pawprints on the lawn and large brown and white buildings, which housed the lab and our sleeping quarters for the next two months. It was nestled outside the small town, with the rolling mountains as a breathtaking backdrop. We parked and made our way to meet the rest of our small team in the lab.

______________

The camera-trap was working, evidenced by the large picture of my face plastered to a monitor.

"Looks like you two had fun." Julian, our Ph.D. student with an uneven haircut and post-teen acne, swiveled around in his chair.

"Hah, funny. At least we know it's functioning." I glanced around, surveying the lab. Some of the permanent staff and researchers were there, but I couldn't locate Dr. Basswick.

"Have you seen Sasha? I have some information she might like."

"Yeah, she just stepped out with Dr. Solomdiga. I think they went to the museum-" Before he could finish, a tall, light-skinned woman with auburn hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, entered the lab.

"Jennifer, Dominic, glad you're back. And I see that things went smoothly," she referred to the pictures on the screen, which Julian instantly exited.

My face reddened.

"Thanks to Dominic's tech skills."

"And thanks to Jen's tracking abilities. She found a pugmark," Dominic added.

Dr. Basswick's face illuminated immediately.

"A pugmark? Where? Close to the camera trap?"

I shoved my hands into my trouser pockets.

"Not too far from where it's assembled. I'll show you the coordinates on the map. The saliency indicated it was recent."

"Excellent news! Well done, you two. This is just one step closer to tracking our leopards. Lunch is on me today."

After lunch, Dominic proposed that the team visit the city for the weekend. He had a friend who hardly used an apartment in town. I was reluctant, even though spending an evening with Dominic sounded like heaven. I didn't want to miss any new footage. But Dr. Basswick insisted our team take the night off. She thought it would be a good idea to let off steam and explore, reassuring us that she would keep an eye on things. We had been working non-stop since we arrived, hardly ever leaving the research center grounds.

Two hours later, dodging potholes at record speeds, we were in Vladivostok.