Chapter 3 #3
“What?” I asked the leopard, suddenly self-conscious beneath his concentrated attention. The leopard remained quiet for a moment, his nostrils flaring once more before his gaze returned to mine.
Nothing, the leopard answered, settling himself more carefully against the ground.
“That was definitely not nothing,” I told him, pulling on a pair of gloves while trying to understand why my skin suddenly felt warmer.
He didn't explain.
I had a feeling that was going to become a habit.
“I need to come closer if I'm going to help you,” I warned the leopard, moving only after giving him enough time to object. “If something hurts or you want me to stop, tell me before you decide to communicate with your teeth.”
The leopard's gaze dropped toward my hand.
I will not bite you, the leopard replied, sounding faintly offended by my continuing concern.
“You have very large teeth,” I told him, crouching several feet away before inching closer. “Respecting them feels like common sense.”
You mention my teeth often, the leopard observed, his whiskers moving slightly as his eyes followed me.
“I've known you for approximately five minutes,” I reminded him, extending one gloved hand toward his shoulder. “Your teeth are currently one of your most noticeable features.”
That low, almost amused rumble returned.
I smiled despite myself.
“I'm touching your side now,” I told the leopard, letting my fingertips make contact with the fur above his shoulder before moving toward the bloodied area. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
You worry too much, the leopard replied, although he remained perfectly still while I carefully separated the damp fur.
“That's easy for you to say when you're not the one putting your hands on a leopard,” I told him, concentrating on the wound beneath my fingertips.
The cut along his flank was long, but thankfully not as deep as the amount of blood had suggested.
Dirt and dried leaves had stuck to several places along the edges, and he flinched when I touched one particularly tender section.
“There,” I murmured to the leopard, immediately easing the pressure of my fingers. “That hurts.”
I have had worse, the leopard replied, turning his head enough to look down at what I was doing.
“That doesn't make this one stop hurting,” I told him, reaching for the saline. His attention stayed on me while I flushed the dirt from the wound. The muscles beneath his fur tightened.
“Sorry,” I murmured to the leopard, slowing when he shifted. “I know this part isn't pleasant.”
Continue, the leopard instructed, his voice quieter as he lowered his head again. There was something oddly intimate about being trusted enough to touch him.
That thought made me pause. I had treated injured animals before, but those situations usually involved sedation, trained veterinary staff, or a barrier between me and anything capable of removing my hand.
This was different.
He was allowing it.
Watching me.
Choosing to stay still.
I pushed the thought aside and moved toward his injured front leg. The moment I parted the fur, my mood changed. A narrow raw line circled part of the limb.
Wire damage.
I knew it immediately.
“You were caught in a snare,” I told the leopard, anger creeping into my voice as I inspected the swollen skin around the abrasion.
His body became noticeably more rigid.
Briefly, the leopard replied, the earlier amusement disappearing completely.
“Did you break it?” I asked the leopard, checking the paw carefully for swelling while making sure there was no obvious damage to the bones.
Yes, the leopard answered, his gaze shifting toward the forest beyond my shoulder. The single word carried more anger than fear.
“The tayra I helped yesterday was caught in one too,” I told the leopard, picking up the antiseptic while my mind returned to the hidden wire I'd removed. “Is that normal around here? Poachers? Illegal hunting?”
The leopard's eyes returned to me.
No, the leopard replied, his deep voice becoming firmer. There should not be traps in this part of the forest.
The certainty in his answer caught my attention.
Not there usually aren't.
There should not be.
I looked at him more closely.
“How do you know that?” I asked the leopard, pausing with the antiseptic in my hand.
His gaze held mine.
I know this forest, the leopard answered, offering nothing more as his tail moved once against the damp ground. There was clearly more to that statement.
I filed it away.
“This is going to sting,” I warned the leopard, bringing the antiseptic toward the cut on his side.
That warning would have been more useful before the saline, the leopard replied dryly, one ear twitching as I began cleaning the injury.
I stared at him for a second.
“Are you criticizing my bedside manner?” I asked the leopard, trying not to laugh while carefully wiping dried blood from his fur.
Yes, the leopard answered without hesitation, his gaze remaining fixed on my hands.
“Rude,” I told him, although my smile probably ruined any attempt at offense. “You're getting free medical care in the middle of the rainforest.”
I did not ask for it, the leopard pointed out, lowering his head again.
“You also told me to leave,” I reminded him, smoothing clean gauze around the worst section of his leg. “We've already established that I'm bad at listening.”
I noticed, the leopard replied, and once again I heard the amusement beneath his voice. By the time I finished, sweat dampened the back of my neck despite the shade. I sat back on my heels and removed the gloves, relieved to see that the wounds looked much better once the dirt and blood were gone.
“Nothing feels broken,” I told the leopard, packing the used supplies into a small disposal bag. “The side wound should close on its own if you stop stretching it open, and the leg needs rest for at least a couple of days.”
The leopard raised his head.
I hunt, the leopard replied, his expression becoming almost offended by the suggestion that he simply stop.
“Not today you don't,” I told him, giving him a firm look while closing the medical kit.
I need to eat, the leopard argued, shifting his body slightly before the wound along his side immediately pulled.
I pointed toward the movement.
“That,” I told the leopard, raising one eyebrow. “That is exactly why you're not going hunting.”
His ears tipped backward. For one ridiculous moment, he looked like an irritated house cat rather than a predator capable of killing me.
“I'll bring you something,” I told the leopard before common sense had a chance to intervene.
His entire expression changed.
The irritation disappeared.
You will return? the leopard asked, his voice becoming noticeably softer as his attention settled fully on me.
The question caught me off guard. I looked down at the medical kit while fastening the buckle.
“Someone has to make sure you don't tear everything open again,” I told the leopard, trying to keep my tone light despite the unexpected warmth that spread through my chest. “And apparently you can't be trusted to follow basic medical instructions.”
The leopard watched me for another moment.
Then I will wait, the leopard replied, lowering his head onto his paws with a calm certainty that made something inside me tighten strangely.
I told myself it was because he was injured.
That was all.
I was concerned. Any decent person would have been. The explanation sounded perfectly reasonable right up until I found myself thinking about him for the rest of the afternoon.