Chapter 10 #3
A female tapir emerged first. I saw the movement before I saw her body, a slight disturbance in the vegetation near the far side of the clearing. She stepped into view cautiously, rounded ears turning toward every sound while her nose tested the air.
Then another shape appeared behind her.
A nearly grown calf.
I barely breathed.
The pair moved slowly along the edge of the clearing, feeding as they went. I took the first photographs cautiously, leaving enough time between bursts that the shutter wouldn't become a constant distraction.
Then the calf stepped through a break in the vegetation.
Late-afternoon light reached through the canopy behind it, catching along the edges of both animals while enormous green leaves framed them on either side.
I pressed the shutter.
Once.
Twice.
A short burst.
Then they moved on.
I stayed in the blind long after they disappeared, staring at the back of the camera. The photographs were extraordinary—not simply usable or merely good, but the kind I would remember taking years from now.
By the time I returned to camp, I was still buzzing from the experience. I climbed onto the platform, set my camera carefully on the table, and stopped.
Something was different.
Not wrong.
Just different.
Cat had spent hours resting beside the steps over the last few days. The amber-eyed leopard had adopted the space beneath my worktable as one of his preferred places to collapse, while the darker leopard usually settled near the rear support where the shade lasted longest.
Their scents had worked into the areas they frequented—the wooden boards, the steps, the edge of the canvas, and the ground surrounding the platform. Mine had mixed with theirs simply because I'd been living in the same small space.
Then there were the objects.
The straight stick still leaned against one support.
The feather rested beside my camera case.
Two flowers occupied a metal mug with a little water because apparently I had become the sort of woman who arranged flowers brought to her by a leopard.
A smooth stone sat beside my notebook.
I stared at the collection.
“This is ridiculous,” I told the three leopards, sliding the camera strap from my shoulder while I looked around the camp. The amber-eyed leopard raised his head from beneath the worktable.
What? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, blinking sleepily while one ear remained folded from the way he'd been lying on it.
“You live here now.” I told the amber-eyed leopard, pointing toward the platform and the collection he'd been steadily adding to. He looked toward Cat, then toward the darker leopard before finally returning his attention to me.
You live here, the amber-eyed leopard corrected me, resting his chin on his paws again as though I'd misunderstood something very basic.
“Four days. Three nights,” I reminded the amber-eyed leopard, stepping around his tail as I carried my camera toward the lockbox. “Tomorrow morning I'm supposed to head back to the station.”
His head lifted again.
Why? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, his ears moving forward as some of the usual teasing disappeared from his voice.
“Because that's the assignment,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, glancing over my shoulder while I rested the camera carefully against my hip. “I have work back at the station too.”
His tail stopped moving.
Cat turned his head toward him.
The darker leopard opened his eyes.
Something passed between all three without a word. I'd seen them do it before, but this time the silence felt different. Less like three animals reacting to the same sound and more like an entire conversation was happening around me without my permission.
“What?” I asked the three leopards, turning fully toward them as I looked from one face to another.
Nothing, Cat told me, settling more comfortably beside the steps while his expression remained infuriatingly blank.
“You've taught them that answer,” I accused Cat, pointing toward him while the amber-eyed leopard suddenly became extremely interested in licking one paw.
It is useful, Cat replied, his whiskers shifting faintly as though he found my annoyance entertaining.
“Infuriating is what it is,” I told Cat, opening the lockbox with more force than necessary while none of them appeared remotely concerned.
I packed the camera away and tried not to think about tomorrow.
Rain began sometime after midnight.
It wasn't a storm like the one I'd spent beneath the roots with Cat. There was no violent wind and no thunder cracking directly overhead, just steady tropical rain drumming against the corrugated roof and dripping from the canopy in hundreds of overlapping rhythms.
I woke briefly and rolled onto my side.
Through the mosquito net, I could see most of the shelter.
Cat stretched across the platform entrance, his body positioned where anything approaching the steps would have to pass him first. The darker leopard was curled near the rear corner, and the amber-eyed leopard had somehow managed to occupy more room than seemed physically possible on the opposite side.
When I'd arrived a few days ago, the platform had been an empty research shelter I'd been excited to borrow.
Now a perfectly straight stick leaned against one support because I'd apparently lost an argument with a leopard.
A bright feather sat beside my camera bag.
Two flowers occupied one of the station's metal mugs, and a smooth stone I'd repeatedly told myself I didn't need was apparently traveling back with me tomorrow.
Three enormous cats had established preferred sleeping places around the shelter as though they'd been doing it much longer than a few days.
I should have felt crowded.
Instead, the place felt strangely comfortable.
That realization stayed with me as I shifted beneath the thin blanket and listened to the rain hitting the roof.
Tomorrow morning I'd start packing. Batteries would go back into their cases, memory cards into their waterproof wallet, clothes into the dry bag, and all the little pieces of myself I'd scattered around the platform would disappear into my bags.
Usually, I liked that part.
There was something satisfying about finishing an assignment, putting everything back where it belonged, and knowing another place waited ahead. Another flight. Another forest. Another hotel room, rented cabin, research station, or temporary bed.
Move in. Work. Pack. Leave.
I'd been doing it for years.
Tonight, the familiar rhythm didn't have quite the same appeal.
I looked through the net toward the entrance.
Cat hadn't moved. His ears shifted occasionally with sounds beyond the shelter, but otherwise he remained still.
The amber-eyed leopard stretched one paw in his sleep before rolling partly onto his side, somehow taking up even more space, while the darker leopard remained curled near the back beneath the protection of the roof.
Tomorrow, I was supposed to leave this camp. The thought settled somewhere uncomfortable in my chest. Not even because I'd taken some of the best photographs of the assignment here.
I was going to miss this.
Them.
That realization was far more inconvenient.
I rolled onto my back and stared through the darkness at the underside of the mosquito net.
A few days ago, Cat had been the strange leopard I visited beside a creek.
Now there were three of them woven through my routine so thoroughly that I could already predict where each one would be at different points of the day.
Cat would be somewhere near whichever trail I planned to take. The darker leopard would quietly redirect me if he knew a better route. The amber-eyed menace would eventually appear carrying something I hadn't asked for and would somehow convince me to keep.
Somewhere along the way, their presence had stopped feeling unusual.
I should probably have found that concerning. Instead, I closed my eyes and tucked the blanket closer beneath my chin while the rain continued tapping steadily against the roof.
For the first time since I'd arrived in the rainforest, I wasn't particularly looking forward to leaving.