Sheena Bly regularly took her dog for a run in the foothills of the Waitakere ranges. Quimby was a particularly enthusiastic Doberman. He always raced ahead, came back a couple of minutes later to make sure she was still there, then ran on ahead again, repeatedly. Other than being unseasonably warm for autumn, this day was no different. Sheena followed her usual route, and Quimby followed his usual routine.

The dog had been gone a minute when she heard his barks. He sounded excited, so she picked up speed to find him. As soon as she joined him, the object of his excitement became clear. She drew her breath in, her heart skipping. He stood before a tree, just barking at it. Sheena had come this way not fifteen minutes before on the loop track, and this particular tree had been an impressive native kauri. Now it was no longer a tree of wood and leaves. The kauri tree had crystallized, as if the entire structure was made of clear white quartz. No wonder Quimby was yapping at it. She stared in disbelief. It was hauntingly beautiful. Sheena’s instinct was to touch it, but she stopped herself at the last second. The crystalline structure just shouldn’t be. She took a step back and got her phone out—no reception of course. She needed to go where she could make a call, but Quimby wasn't ready to leave. Sheena tugged on his collar to get him to move, and he still looked back and barked at the tree as they backtracked.

In the car park, Sheena opened the back of her car to let Quimby in, planning to drive further up the road where she might get reception. Before she had a chance to get in her car, a utility truck pulled in. The logo on the door told her it must be a council truck. A man in a ranger’s uniform got out. He looked slightly older than her, maybe in his late twenties, and was tall, his handsome features enhanced by a smart goatee. She was a little self-conscious as she went up to him, still flushed and sweaty from running.

“I was just about to call for a park ranger.”

“Seems I’ve saved you the trouble,” he said as he put his ranger’s hat on, covering his sandy brown hair.

She offered her hand. “Sheena.”

He shook it and met her gaze. “McRae.” His blue eyes were curious. “What was it you were going to call about?” He had an accent, but she couldn’t place it yet. 

“You have to see it to believe it. Something’s happened to one of the big old kauri trees. I can take you to it, but do you mind if my dog comes?” She indicated the Doberman, waiting eagerly to get back into the forest. “His run was cut short.”

 McRae smiled and walked over to give Quimby a pat. 

Sheena would have mentioned the dog was wary of strangers, especially males, but he seemed to indulge in the park ranger’s attention. 

“Don’t see this breed too often. What a handsome boy. He’s welcome to come. What’s he called?”

“Quimby.” Hearing his name, the dog leaped from the back of the car and shot off towards the track entrance. “He knows the way. We come here every week. It’s our favourite track.”

“Aye, it’s a beautiful walk on a day like today. Don’t usually get weather this hot in April.” 

“You’re Scottish.”

“Damn, I wish I’d known earlier, I’d have worn a kilt,” McRae said playfully. Sheena laughed. It was a provoking mental image—an apparently well-built man in a kilt. 

They followed Quimby as he sniffed his way along the track, but it wasn’t long before he ran on ahead.

“Tell me about this tree, Miss Sheena.”

She liked him calling her that. “Well…this is going to sound weird, but it looks like it’s turned into crystal.” When McRae said nothing, she knew he thought she was nuts. “I said it was going to sound weird. You really do have to see it for yourself.” 

“Do you live local?”

“Close. Just along Scenic Drive. I’m renting a place there while I’m on hiatus.”

“Hiatus?”

“I discovered recently that I’m not cut out for the rat race. I worked as a journalist for a few years but found city living so oppressive and stifling,” Sheena said. “So I quit my job, sold most of the junk I’d accumulated, and moved out of the city and into the greenery. Now it’s just me, Quimby, and nature. I have time and space to breathe, and the freedom to concentrate on what makes me happy.”

“Sounds like you’re living the dream. Not many people get to do that.”

“Depends on what your dream is. Are you living the dream, McRae?” 

He chuckled. “I suppose I’m living a version of it. I was a city lad, raised in Edinburgh. New Zealand always seemed verdant and remote and calm—a little self-contained paradise all its own. I knew I wanted to move here before I even started studying environmental science. I’m sure I made the right choice.” Sheena enjoyed listening to his accent—the way he rolled his R’s and pronounced certain words. It was almost magnetic. 

Quimby’s barks from further in the forest brought her back to reality. She and McRae jogged to catch up to the dog.

Sheena slowed as the ghostly tree came in to view, but the park ranger walked straight to it without hesitation. Taking his hat off, McRae wordlessly surveyed the crystalline tree from top to bottom. He tapped the glassy trunk with his pen, took a photo, then  a scraping off it. He noted something down in a logbook. He was left-handed.

“When did you last walk this track, Miss Sheena?”