Chapter 6 #2
“Do I really smell like you?” I asked the leopard, turning toward him as I gathered the loose wrapper into my lap. His head lifted and his attention sharpened enough that I immediately became aware of how strange the question sounded when said out loud.
Yes, the leopard answered, drawing in a quiet breath through his nose while his eyes remained fixed on me.
I looked down at my shirt as though there might be something visible there.
“The toucan said it's because I sit where you sleep,” I told the leopard, rubbing the fabric between my fingers while I tried to imagine what animals with more sensitive noses were picking up.
That's part of it, the leopard replied, watching me closely as one of his ears tipped forward.
I looked back at him, catching the phrasing immediately.
“Part of it?” I asked the leopard, letting the fabric slip from my fingers as suspicion returned.
You spend a lot of time near me, the leopard explained, his tone becoming deliberately casual while he resettled his front paws beneath him.
“That still sounds suspiciously vague,” I told the leopard, keeping my eyes on him as a faint breeze moved through the ferns beside us.
You wanted an explanation. I gave you one, the leopard replied, meeting my stare without any indication that he intended to elaborate.
“A bad one,” I told the leopard with a small snort, shifting my empty lunch wrapper toward the open backpack.
You didn't specify that it had to be good, the leopard pointed out, his whiskers moving again while that familiar low amusement colored his voice.
I stared at him for a second before laughing.
“I'm beginning to regret teaching you sarcasm,” I told the leopard, shaking my head even though I suspected he'd known how to be sarcastic long before meeting me.
You didn't teach me anything, the leopard replied, sounding faintly offended as he raised his head a little higher.
“Sure, Cat,” I told him sweetly, deliberately emphasizing the nickname while his ears flattened so quickly that my smile widened.
The older capuchin's other comment returned before I could stop thinking about it. I watched the leopard for a moment as he relaxed again, his chin settling across his front paws while one ear remained turned toward me.
“Do you really wait for me?” I asked the leopard, my tone losing some of its teasing as I studied his face. His eyes opened at once, and his head came up slightly as his attention focused completely on me.
I'd surprised him.
Who told you that? the leopard asked, his voice noticeably more guarded while his tail, which had been resting loose against the ground, became still.
“That isn't a no,” I pointed out to the leopard, folding my empty sandwich wrapper before placing it back into my bag and looking at him over the open flap.
Which animal told you? the leopard asked, ignoring my observation while his gaze narrowed slightly.
“An older capuchin,” I told the leopard, pulling the zipper of my lunch pouch closed. “He said you wait here for me every day.”
The leopard turned his head toward the trees, one ear tipping backward while the rest of his body remained suspiciously still.
He talks too much, the leopard muttered, his irritation directed far more toward the absent capuchin than toward me.
My eyebrows rose as satisfaction began replacing my uncertainty.
“Oh, that's interesting. So you do,” I told the leopard, leaning forward slightly with my forearms resting against my knees. His gaze returned to mine, and for several seconds he seemed to weigh whatever answer he was considering.
I know when you usually arrive, the leopard finally explained, choosing each word with enough care to make me even more suspicious.
“That is waiting,” I told the leopard, smiling as the tip of his tail moved once across the ground.
That's knowing your routine, the leopard corrected, his voice taking on that patient quality he normally used when he thought I was being deliberately difficult.
“While sitting here until I show up,” I reminded the leopard, unable to stop the small burst of satisfaction his evasiveness gave me.
I'm usually here anyway, the leopard argued, shifting his weight against the roots while his ears began to angle backward.
“Waiting,” I repeated to the leopard, letting the single word hang between us as my smile grew.
Observing, the leopard insisted, irritation slipping more clearly into his voice while his tail gave another deliberate sweep through the leaves.
“Waiting,” I repeated again, watching his ears flatten completely this time and grinning despite my best effort to remain serious.
“Whatever makes you feel better, Cat,” I told the leopard, reaching for my camera while the low growl that followed contained no real threat whatsoever.
We spent most of the next hour the way we'd spent nearly every afternoon that week.
I showed him photographs from my morning while he pretended to have only a passing interest, although his eyes remained on the camera whenever I turned the screen toward him.
He seemed particularly interested in the frogs, pausing longer over those images while I explained where I'd found them. I showed him the young capuchin who had followed me down the trail and then the brown bird who continued criticizing my hair.
Eventually, I reached the toucan.
“That is the one who told me I should sleep near you again,” I told the leopard, angling the camera so he could see the photograph while I enlarged the image with my thumb.
He's an idiot, the leopard replied after studying the toucan for several seconds, one ear flicking backward as though he found the bird personally offensive.
“Finally, complete agreement,” I told the leopard, laughing as I pressed the button to move to the next photograph. A heavy flutter of wings interrupted me before another image could load, and leaves shook overhead as the scarlet macaw landed on a branch directly above us.
The gleam in his eye made me suspicious before he'd even settled his wings.
“No,” I told the macaw, lowering the camera into my lap while I pointed one warning finger toward him.
I haven't even said anything yet, the macaw complained, shifting his claws along the branch as his feathers fluffed indignantly around his neck.
“You were thinking something,” I told the macaw, narrowing my eyes while he stared down at me with exaggerated innocence.
I'm always thinking something, the macaw replied proudly, standing taller on his branch as though that were an accomplishment rather than the exact reason I didn't trust him.
“That is exactly what concerns me,” I told the bird, letting my hand fall back toward the camera in my lap. Beside me, the leopard lifted his head and fixed the macaw with a much less amused expression.
Go somewhere else, the leopard told the macaw, his deep voice carrying enough warning that the bird leaned backward and tightened his claws around the branch. The macaw looked down at him before slowly turning toward me, and something in his posture immediately brightened.
See? the macaw asked me, bouncing once on the branch while his long tail feathers shifted behind him.
I already regretted engaging.
“See what?” I asked the macaw, tilting my head back as I watched him with growing suspicion.
He watches you, the macaw explained, flicking his gaze pointedly toward the leopard beside me while one wing shifted against his body. A low growl came from Cat's chest, and the macaw moved several inches higher along the branch but made no effort to leave.
He waits for you too, the macaw added, sounding delighted that he'd apparently found reinforcements for today's ongoing argument.
“Everyone has made me very aware of that today,” I told the bird, glancing toward the leopard with a teasing smile while his ears flattened at my obvious enjoyment.
He protects you, the macaw continued, leaning farther forward as though he had saved his strongest evidence for last. The leopard rose in one smooth movement, powerful shoulders lifting beneath his spotted coat, and the macaw finally decided a little more distance might be wise as he hopped onto a higher branch.
“Don't eat him,” I told the leopard, reaching out without thinking and placing my hand against his shoulder as he prepared to move.
He stopped beneath my touch so quickly that the ease of it registered only afterward.
My palm remained against warm fur, the solid muscle beneath it reminding me just how much power he carried without making me afraid of it anymore.
Less than a week ago, I'd barely been able to touch him without being acutely aware of his teeth, claws, and the fact that he could seriously hurt me if he chose to.
Now reaching for him had become automatic.
I hadn't needed to check an injury or wondered whether he'd tolerate being touched.
I'd simply known he would stop if I asked him to.
The realization settled quietly through me as my fingers moved once through the short fur covering his shoulder.
He turned his head and watched my hand before looking back at my face, and I withdrew it more slowly than I'd intended.
You protect Red, the leopard observed, lowering himself back onto the ground while his attention remained on me instead of the bird he'd been threatening seconds earlier.
“Only because he's too stupid to recognize when he's about to get eaten,” I told the leopard, glancing toward the safer branch where the macaw had taken refuge.
I heard that, the macaw complained, fluffing his feathers indignantly while he stared down at me.
“You were meant to,” I told the macaw, unable to keep a smile from my face as the bird clicked his beak in response.
The macaw looked between us once, then again, taking enough time with the second glance that suspicion immediately crept over me.
His feathers shifted, and the pleased little bounce he gave on the branch was one I'd already learned not to trust.