Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
EVIE
The leopard knew I checked his wounds in the afternoon, so of course he'd know roughly when I was coming. That was the most practical explanation.
Except he didn't really need those checks anymore, and I knew it.
His wound was healing beautifully. His leg had improved.
He could hunt without me bringing him food.
The same excuses I'd been using for my own visits applied just as poorly to him now, and that thought stayed with me as I pushed away from the tree and resumed walking.
“That monkey has been spending too much time around the macaw,” I muttered to myself, adjusting the camera strap as I stepped around another muddy patch in the trail.
The explanation might have been more convincing if I hadn't spent the rest of the morning thinking about it.
I continued working until after lunch, photographing several frogs near a shallow pool, a pair of tanagers moving between flowering plants, and one young capuchin who apparently loved the camera so much that he followed me for nearly fifteen minutes.
By the time I started toward the creek shortly after two, I had almost convinced myself the animals were simply assigning meanings to things that weren't there.
Then I reached the water and found the leopard beneath the exposed roots, his head already lifted toward the exact trail I'd just come from.
The thought that he had been waiting appeared before I could stop it, and I paused on the near bank while the older capuchin's words returned with uncomfortable clarity.
Cat, because that was still the only thing I had to call him—looked nothing like the badly injured animal I'd first found here.
The wound along his side had closed into a narrow healing line hidden beneath tawny fur, and when he shifted onto his feet to stretch, he put his full weight on the leg that had once been wrapped in wire without any visible hesitation.
He didn't need me anymore.
Yet a small rush of happiness still moved through me at the sight of him.
That probably deserved more examination than I intended to give it.
The leopard tilted his head when I didn't immediately cross.
“Afternoon, Cat,” I greeted the leopard, carefully making my way over the shallow creek while a smile tugged at my mouth when both of his ears immediately angled backward at the nickname.
You keep using that name even though you know I dislike it, the leopard complained, his golden-brown eyes following each step I took across the stones until I reached the opposite bank.
“You still refuse to give me another one,” I reminded the leopard, setting my backpack beside one of the broad roots while the damp fabric brushed against my ankle.
That doesn't make Cat acceptable, the leopard replied, lowering his head onto his paws while keeping his eyes fixed on me with familiar disapproval.
“I think you're getting used to it,” I told the leopard, crouching beside my pack as I searched for the container I'd brought from the station and deliberately ignored the look he was giving me.
I'm not, the leopard insisted, although his attention shifted immediately toward my hands when the container appeared, undermining some of his dignity.
“Sure you're not,” I told the leopard, smiling as I opened the lid and set the food within reach before settling onto one of the smoother roots nearby.
He leaned forward and sniffed the contents.
Chicken, the leopard observed, lifting his head a little higher while his nose moved again over the container.
“Very impressive. You'll be identifying food professionally before long,” I told the leopard, pulling my own lunch from the bag as amusement crept into my voice. The look he gave me was so thoroughly unimpressed that I laughed, the sound blending with the water moving around the stones beside us.
You're strange today, the leopard observed, taking the first piece of chicken while keeping his attention on me instead of immediately returning to the food.
“That's because the entire rainforest has decided my personal life belongs to everyone,” I told the leopard, unwrapping my sandwich as I settled more comfortably against the roots and stretched my legs out in front of me.
His chewing paused for barely a second before continuing, but I'd spent enough time with him now that I noticed the hesitation.
“You know what I'm talking about,” I accused the leopard, studying the subtle shift in his expression while the sandwich remained forgotten in my hand.
I don't, the leopard replied, lowering his head toward another piece of chicken with a little too much care, as though concentrating hard enough on his lunch might make me drop the subject.
“That answer came awfully fast,” I told the leopard, raising one eyebrow as I leaned more firmly against the root behind me.
You say strange things fairly often. I've learned to respond quickly, the leopard countered, lifting his eyes toward me while the faintest hint of amusement slipped into his otherwise calm tone.
“You've gotten much ruder since your leg healed,” I told the leopard, narrowing my eyes even though the smile pulling at my mouth ruined any real complaint.
Perhaps I've simply stopped being polite, the leopard suggested, his whiskers shifting as he settled one large paw more comfortably over the other.
“Oh, excellent. That's much better,” I told the leopard, taking a bite of my sandwich while the low rumbling sound I'd learned meant amusement vibrated quietly from his chest.
After swallowing, I brushed a crumb from my shorts and looked toward him again.
“A toucan told me I smell like you, several monkeys have decided you'd make an excellent mate for me, birds keep telling me I should sleep beside you, and an older capuchin informed me that you wait here for me every afternoon,” I told the leopard, counting the increasingly bizarre conversations on my fingers as his attention became progressively more focused.
By the time I finished, his entire body had gone still. I'd learned enough about him to recognize the reaction. When something surprised or bothered him, he didn't fidget or glance nervously around the way a person might.
He became almost unnaturally motionless.
“Well?” I asked the leopard, lowering my sandwich to my lap while I waited for something more useful than the expression he was currently giving me.
What do you want me to say? the leopard asked, keeping his voice calm even as one ear angled toward the surrounding forest.
“Any explanation at all would be a refreshing change,” I told the leopard, watching him closely while my fingers absently folded the edge of my sandwich wrapper.
Animals gossip, the leopard replied, turning his attention back toward his food with a composure I was beginning to find deeply suspicious.
“I've noticed. Unfortunately, you seem to be their favorite subject whenever I'm around,” I told the leopard, shifting the wrapper against my knee while he selected another piece of chicken.
Maybe you're their favorite subject, the leopard corrected, lifting his gaze toward me again while the tip of his tail moved once through the leaves.
I paused, imagining that possibility for all of two seconds.
“That is somehow worse,” I admitted to the leopard, taking another bite as his whiskers shifted in a way I'd started associating with restrained amusement.
“You're enjoying this,” I accused the leopard after swallowing, pointing the sandwich toward him while he lowered himself more comfortably against the earth.
A little, the leopard admitted, resting his weight against one hip as his golden-brown eyes remained on me.
“Which part?” I asked the leopard, curiosity getting the better of me even though I already suspected I'd dislike the answer.
Mostly the part where you argue with birds, the leopard replied, his eyes drifting half closed while his body relaxed beneath the shade of the roots.
“They start it,” I told the leopard, sitting straighter in immediate defense while the absurdity of having to explain this somehow failed to escape me.
I'm sure they do, the leopard answered, his dry tone and the slight movement of one ear making it obvious he didn't believe a word of it.
“They do,” I insisted, lifting my chin at him before taking another bite.
And the monkeys? the leopard asked, opening one eye as though he intended to conduct a full investigation now.
“They also start it,” I told the leopard, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my cheek while the humid air immediately encouraged it to fall back.
The toucan? the leopard continued, clearly enjoying himself now as the rumble in his chest threatened to return.
“He was particularly rude,” I informed the leopard, lifting my sandwich toward him as though presenting the most convincing piece of evidence available.
And me? the leopard asked, raising his head enough that both eyes were open again. I considered him for a moment, letting my gaze travel over his far too innocent expression.
“You're probably the worst one,” I told the leopard, nodding decisively before returning to my lunch while his rumbling laugh followed the movement.
We ate quietly for several minutes after that while water moved around the smooth stones in the creek and insects buzzed through the ferns surrounding the roots.
Occasional droplets fell from leaves overhead whenever something disturbed the branches, and the cooler shade beneath the tree made sitting there far more comfortable than most of the trail had been.
The silence with him never felt awkward anymore.
That realization had crept up on me over the last several days until it had become something I accepted without thinking.
I could talk to him for twenty minutes without stopping and then spend the next ten saying nothing at all, and neither felt uncomfortable.
He didn't demand conversation or seem bored when I became absorbed in my camera.
He simply stayed.
The toucan's earlier comment returned while I was finishing my sandwich.