Chapter 3 #2
“Damn it,” I muttered to myself, turning around and hurrying back toward the communal building. Mara was still at the table when I stepped inside, although she'd traded her breakfast for a radio and several maps spread across the wood.
“I heard something on the north trail that sounds injured,” I told Mara, crossing toward the shelving where I'd left part of my field equipment. “Something fairly large.”
Mara's head came up immediately.
“What kind of animal?” Mara asked, pushing her chair back while her attention followed me toward the medical supplies.
“I couldn't see it from where I was,” I answered Mara, which was technically true despite being a very creative interpretation of events. “But whatever it is sounded like it was in pain.”
Mara crossed the room and picked up one of the handheld radios near the door, her expression becoming much more serious.
“If it's a predator, don't approach it just because it's injured,” Mara warned, holding the radio out to me while keeping her eyes firmly on mine. “Pain makes animals unpredictable, and you don't have enough information yet to know what you're walking toward.”
“I know,” I assured Mara, taking the radio and clipping it to my pack before checking that my compact medical kit was still inside. “I'll look first. If it's something I can't safely deal with, I'll call you.”
Mara didn't release the radio immediately.
“Check in within an hour,” Mara instructed, finally letting go once I met her gaze. “And stay close to the north route unless you call first. I don't want to organize a search party because our photographer decided to wrestle a jaguar.”
“I have absolutely no intention of wrestling anything,” I told Mara, pulling the pack onto my shoulders while trying not to smile.
“That isn't as reassuring as you think it is,” Mara replied, folding her arms as she watched me move toward the door.
I paused with one hand against the frame.
“I'll be careful,” I promised Mara, giving her a more serious look this time.
“Good,” Mara answered, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she nodded toward the trail. “Because I don't want to explain to your emergency contact that you got eaten on your second day.”
“I'd also prefer to avoid that paperwork,” I told Mara, earning a reluctant laugh before I stepped outside.
The animals led me almost the entire way. I tried to pretend they weren't. That became impossible after the third time I reached a turn and some creature above me announced which direction the injured predator was in.
Water way, a capuchin called from somewhere overhead, its weight shaking thin branches as it moved.
“I know where the creek is,” I muttered to the monkey, stepping over an exposed root while keeping my pace steady.
Not that water, another monkey corrected from farther ahead.
I stopped and looked upward.
“You people could have mentioned that first,” I complained quietly to the unseen animals, earning several excited calls that may or may not have been laughter.
The north trail eventually descended toward a narrow creek that wasn't marked on the basic map Mara had shown me.
Clear water moved over smooth brown stones, and thick ferns crowded both banks.
Sunlight came through the canopy in scattered patches, reflecting off the surface whenever the leaves above shifted in the breeze.
The closer I came, the quieter the surrounding animals became. That bothered me more than the earlier alarm calls.
There, a small bird whispered from a branch above my left shoulder, its tiny body remaining perfectly still as it peered toward the far bank.
I followed its attention.
At first, I saw nothing.
Then a low growl traveled through the vegetation.
I stopped so quickly that one boot slid slightly against the damp soil.
There was no mistaking that sound. My hand moved instinctively toward the radio, although I didn't pull it free yet.
Beyond the creek, the earth rose beneath the exposed roots of an enormous tree.
Ferns concealed most of the space underneath, but something golden moved behind them.
A large head lifted.
My breath caught.
Leopard.
For several seconds, the photographer in me nearly overpowered every other thought.
He was magnificent.
I'd photographed leopards before, but seeing one this close without a vehicle, hide, or substantial distance between us was completely different.
He was larger than I expected, broad through the shoulders and heavily muscled beneath a tawny coat patterned with dark rosettes.
His fur was damp in places, and mud streaked one side where he'd clearly been lying against the ground for some time.
Then I saw the blood. A dark red stain spread through the fur along his left side. One front leg rested at an unnatural angle—not broken, from what I could tell at this distance, but he was clearly avoiding putting much weight on it.
Concern shoved the instinctive awe aside.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered to the leopard, keeping my body still as his golden-brown eyes settled on me. “What happened to you?”
His ears flattened.
Leave.
The voice was deep enough that my entire body went rigid. My boot slipped against one of the wet stones when I instinctively stepped backward, and I caught myself against a nearby trunk before I ended up sitting in the creek.
I stared at the leopard.
He stared back.
Apparently, he wasn't particularly impressed by my entrance.
“No,” I whispered to the leopard, pressing one hand against the rough bark beside me while my heartbeat pounded painfully against my ribs. “No. I'm not doing this again.”
The leopard shifted beneath the roots, and a slight tightening around his eyes showed how much the movement hurt him.
You came to me, the leopard pointed out, his deep voice carrying a calmness that seemed entirely inappropriate considering I was having another crisis several yards away.
“I know I came to you,” I told the leopard, slowly straightening as I tried to convince my body that running wasn't necessary. “I just wasn't prepared for you to answer.”
One of his ears flicked.
You speak constantly, the leopard replied, watching me with an expression that somehow managed to seem unimpressed. Why is it strange when someone answers?
My mouth opened.
I stopped.
That was annoyingly reasonable.
“You're a leopard,” I reminded him, gesturing toward his enormous spotted body as though he might somehow have missed that particular detail.
I am aware, the leopard answered, lowering his head slightly while his tail moved once through the leaves behind him.
A loud squawk came from above us.
She had the same reaction yesterday, the scarlet macaw announced, landing heavily on a branch that dipped beneath his weight.
I looked up so quickly that my neck protested.
“You again?” I asked the macaw, irritation pushing through some of my shock when I recognized the same bright red feathers from the clearing.
You are entertaining, the macaw replied, sidestepping along the branch while fluffing his feathers proudly. I decided to keep you.
“You decided to—” I started to argue with the macaw, then stopped when I realized I was standing beside a creek debating ownership with a bird while an injured leopard listened. “You know what? Never mind.”
The leopard released a low sound from beneath the roots.
It took me a second to recognize it.
He was amused.
I turned toward him.
“Are you laughing at me?” I asked the leopard, narrowing my eyes as his whiskers shifted slightly.
No, the leopard replied, lowering his chin across his uninjured paw while failing spectacularly at sounding innocent.
The macaw leaned forward on his branch.
He is, the macaw confirmed cheerfully, his black eyes bright with delight at being able to cause trouble.
The leopard's growl rolled through the clearing. The macaw immediately flapped several branches higher.
I laughed before I could stop myself. It was brief, but it loosened something inside my chest.
The leopard was still a wild predator. He still had teeth large enough to do catastrophic damage if I misjudged him, and nothing about understanding his thoughts made his physical capabilities less dangerous.
But there was intelligence behind his eyes.
Humor.
A personality.
That made it much harder to see him as something waiting to attack me. I carefully stepped across the remaining stones and stopped several yards from the exposed roots.
“My name is Evie,” I told the leopard, lowering my field pack slowly onto the damp ground so he could see exactly what I was doing. “I'm staying at the research station nearby, and I have medical supplies with me. If you let me close enough, I might be able to help with those wounds.”
The leopard studied me in silence, his gaze moving from my face to the pack beside my knee.
I know who you are, the leopard replied after several seconds, his ears relaxing slightly.
My fingers paused against the zipper.
“You know who I am?” I asked the leopard, glancing briefly toward the surrounding trees before returning my attention to him.
The forest talks, the leopard answered, giving the macaw above us a pointed look.
The bird puffed his chest proudly.
Apparently, privacy did not exist here.
“Fantastic,” I muttered to the leopard, opening my medical kit and laying out saline, antiseptic, gauze, and bandages on a clean cloth. “I've been here less than two days and somehow the wildlife already has gossip about me.”
You are easy to discuss, the macaw offered from above, leaning sideways to get a better look at my supplies.
“That wasn't an invitation for commentary,” I told the macaw, pointing toward him with the roll of gauze before looking back at the leopard.
The leopard's attention followed my hands.
His nose moved slightly. It was subtle enough that I might not have noticed if I hadn't spent years watching animals through a lens.
He inhaled again.
Longer this time.
Something about his posture changed.
Not aggression.
If anything, he seemed to become more focused on me. I resisted the urge to lift my arm and smell myself.