Chapter 5 #2
“Thank you,” I told the unseen bird, keeping my attention on the snake while I carefully picked my way around it until enough distance separated us for the tension between my shoulders to ease.
Other observations were considerably less useful.
Her nest-head is smaller today, a small brown bird announced from a low branch farther ahead, hopping closer to the edge as if he needed a better look.
I recognized him immediately as the same tiny critic who had commented on my hair the previous morning, and I stopped beneath his branch to touch the braid hanging over my shoulder.
I'd taken considerably more time securing it this morning after yesterday's unsolicited reviews.
“I braided it,” I explained to the bird, trying not to feel ridiculous while he leaned forward to inspect my hair with the seriousness of someone judging a competition rather than a woman attempting to keep humidity from destroying her sanity.
Better, the bird decided, hopping a few inches closer while his tiny claws tightened around the damp bark and his head tipped first one way, then the other.
“Thank you,” I told the bird, unable to keep a faint smile from my face because I was more pleased by his approval than I wanted to admit.
Still strange, though, the bird added after studying me for another moment, spreading his wings before disappearing through the foliage and leaving several small leaves trembling behind him.
“You should've quit while you were ahead,” I muttered to the empty branch, shaking my head as I continued along the trail.
The path curved closer to the river and narrowed between two enormous trees whose trunks were covered in thick moss.
Long vines hung from higher branches, while last night's rain still clung to nearly every leaf around me, catching the light whenever the canopy shifted.
A faint tapping sound came from somewhere to my right, and I slowed to listen as it came again.
Unlike the voices I'd grown accustomed to hearing, this was physical—something hard striking wood.
I waited without moving, scanning the branches until a toucan emerged from behind a curtain of leaves and hopped onto an exposed limb with a dark berry held near the end of his oversized bill.
My camera was halfway to my face before I remembered that I could actually ask now.
“Would you mind if I took some pictures?” I asked the toucan, keeping the camera below my chin while he studied me through one dark eye and shifted his weight along the branch.
Why? the toucan asked, still holding the berry as his toes tightened around the bark and his head tilted slightly toward the camera.
“Because you're gorgeous,” I answered the toucan, smiling as I waited to see whether he would stay instead of lifting the lens without permission. The bird tossed the berry farther into his bill, swallowed it, and puffed his chest slightly before turning enough to give me an almost perfect profile.
I know. You can take them, the toucan replied with effortless confidence, resettling his wings as though he had simply confirmed something obvious.
A laugh escaped me.
“Confidence definitely isn't a problem for you,” I told the toucan, raising the camera once it was clear he didn't mind and adjusting the focus around his eye.
Why would it be? the toucan asked, hopping farther along the branch while I changed my angle to follow him.
“That is an excellent point,” I admitted to the toucan, smiling behind the camera as I pressed the shutter.
He stayed surprisingly cooperative. The dark feathers along his body stood out beautifully against the wet green foliage, while the shape and color of his bill made him impossible to lose against the background.
I shifted slightly to improve the angle and took another photograph just as he reached toward a new cluster of berries.
The toucan stopped with his bill inches from the fruit and looked directly at me.
You smell like the spotted one, the bird remarked, saying it with the same casual interest he had shown the berries.
My finger stopped against the shutter button, and the camera lowered several inches before I'd consciously decided to move it.
“I smell like what?” I asked the toucan, staring at him over the top of the camera while part of me hoped I'd misunderstood despite being reasonably certain I hadn't.
The big spotted one. The one who watches you and gets angry at Red, the toucan clarified, turning his bill toward his shoulder to scratch beneath one feather while I stood there trying to decide which part of that statement bothered me most.
“I know which leopard you're talking about,” I told the toucan, rubbing my thumb over the textured camera grip as curiosity began overtaking my surprise. “Why do I smell like him?”
The toucan regarded me for a moment as though the answer should have been obvious even to someone with my apparently limited understanding.
Because you're always sitting by him, the toucan replied, straightening another feather before turning his attention toward the berries again.
I waited.
He reached for the fruit.
Nothing else followed.
“So I smell like him because I sit near him?” I asked the toucan, lowering the camera completely against my chest as I tried to make sure I was actually following his logic.
And where he sleeps, the toucan added, stretching his neck toward another berry while his claws shifted against the branch.
I glanced down at my clothes and rubbed one hand over the front of my shirt.
That was a much more practical explanation than I'd expected.
I'd spent hours beneath the same roots where the leopard slept, leaning against the same wood and sitting on the same earth.
It made sense that traces of his scent might transfer to me, especially to animals with senses far more sensitive than mine.
“Okay. That actually makes sense,” I told the toucan, some of the tension leaving my shoulders as I lifted my camera again.
You should sleep there more, the toucan suggested, selecting another berry from the cluster and holding it neatly in the end of his bill.
My camera dipped for the second time.
“What?” I asked the toucan, staring up at him as warmth immediately began crawling into my face.
You sleep better there, the toucan explained after swallowing his fruit, watching me with calm curiosity as though my reaction were the confusing part of the conversation.
“I fell asleep beside him once because there was a storm, and he's also a leopard,” I told the toucan, glancing down the empty trail even though nobody was nearby to overhear this increasingly strange conversation.
Yes, the toucan agreed, shifting one foot along the branch while his expression remained completely unchanged.
“An animal,” I clarified to the bird, lifting one hand in a helpless gesture because I couldn't believe this distinction needed to be explained.
So are you, the toucan pointed out, blinking slowly as if he'd just corrected a very simple misunderstanding. My mouth opened, but nothing came out for a moment because there was no useful way to argue with something that was technically true.
“I'm starting to hate how often animals are technically correct,” I told the toucan, exhaling through my nose as I decided the photography portion of our interaction had been considerably easier.
Maybe you're wrong a lot, the toucan suggested, reaching toward another berry without appearing remotely concerned about the insult he'd just delivered.
I stared up at him, caught somewhere between offense and amusement.
“That was rude,” I informed the bird, fighting the smile threatening to ruin the accusation as I adjusted the camera strap across my chest.
Was it wrong? the toucan asked, tilting his head until his enormous bill angled slightly toward the ground.
“I'm leaving now,” I told the toucan, lowering the camera with exaggerated dignity before he could do any more damage to my self-esteem. The bird returned to his berries without appearing bothered in the slightest, and I had only made it another twenty yards when leaves rustled overhead.
Why don't you want to sleep near him again? a capuchin asked from somewhere above me, curiosity making his voice carry clearly through the canopy while branches shifted as he moved closer.
My shoulders dropped in resignation.
Of course he'd heard us.
“No,” I told the monkey, spotting part of his tail between two branches as I continued walking. “We're not continuing that conversation.”
Why not? the capuchin asked, swinging down until his face appeared through the leaves and he could keep pace with me from above.
“Because every animal in this forest has suddenly developed an unhealthy interest in my personal life,” I explained to the capuchin, stepping around a patch of slick mud while he moved effortlessly from branch to branch overhead.
Do you have a personal life? the capuchin asked, sounding genuinely curious as he paused long enough to scratch at his stomach.
I stopped so abruptly that the camera bumped lightly against my ribs.
“That was unnecessarily mean,” I told the capuchin, staring up at him with one hand gripping the camera strap while his expression remained completely confused.
What was mean? the capuchin asked, lowering his hand as his brow seemed to furrow in genuine puzzlement. I watched him for another second before accepting there had been no insult intended, which somehow made the whole thing worse.
“Never mind,” I told the capuchin, rubbing my lips together to keep from laughing as I turned back toward the trail and resumed walking.
Branches shifted overhead as he followed.
Do you want a mate? the capuchin asked, settling onto another branch directly above the trail with absolutely no concern for my attempt to end the subject.
My boot caught the edge of a root because I wasn't paying enough attention to the ground, and I had to catch myself against the nearest tree.
Damp bark pressed against my palm, leaving a faint smear of green moss against my skin as I steadied myself.