Page 125 of Beasts of Mine

“You always have actual work.” Malek reminded me, glancing toward the camera resting against my hip.

“More actual than usual.” I turned the map so he could see the route I had marked. “A magazine called the station this morning. Their cover photograph fell through, and they need a last-minute replacement for an issue about rainforest waterways.”

Malek studied the route instead of offering a different one.

“What do you need?” Malek asked, his eyes following the creek beneath my fingertip.

“A strong vertical wildlife image near water. Something with enough open space for cover text.” I folded the map and slid it away again. “I’m going toward the creek where I first found you. There are several animal paths crossing through there, and I remember the canopy being open enough in places for decent light.”

Malek went quiet, and I realized how the words had sounded.

“The same place?” Malek asked as his eyes returned to mine.

“Near it.” I nodded toward the trail. “Unless you don’t want to go back there.”

“I can go back.” Malek answered after a moment, his voice steady even though cedar and damp earth sharpened around him. “I haven’t avoided it.”

“Good.” I adjusted the bag higher on my shoulder and started down the trail. “Because I would really like something with enough personality that an editor panicking somewhere far away decides she can stop panicking.”

“You make your job sound very noble.” Malek fell into step beside me, the dryness in his voice familiar enough that I looked over at him.

“I photograph animals so people can put words over their heads.” I told Malek solemnly, watching his mouth twitch.

“That sounds less noble.” Malek replied as he stepped cleanly over a thick root without breaking stride.

“It pays better than noble.” I said, and his quiet laugh followed us farther beneath the trees. The creek was almost an hour away at photography speed, which meant stopping whenever something interesting appeared instead of treating the forest like a hallway between destinations. Malek had learned that rhythm by now. When I raised my camera for a woodpecker working along a moss-dark trunk, he stopped without being told, and he no longer pointed out every movement his sharper senses caught unless it mattered. I noticed that, along with far too many other things about him lately.

The creek could be heard before we saw it, the steady rush of water growing louder beneath insects and bird calls until the trail descended through broad ferns toward the bank. Overnight rain had raised the water slightly, turning the shallower edges cloudy where the current disturbed loose sediment. Sunlight broke through gaps in the canopy in narrow strips, catching wet stones and leaves along the opposite side. I stopped before reaching the bank and studied the area through the camera while Malek stayed several steps behind me, giving me room to work.

“This could work.” I murmured mostly to myself as I adjusted the focal length and looked at the layers of vegetation through the viewfinder.

“What are you looking for?” Malek asked from behind my right shoulder, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry far over the water.

“Something that decides to stand exactly where I want it to.” I lowered the camera and pointed toward a low branch angling over the creek. “A green kingfisher there would be ideal. I’d have clean water beneath it, darker vegetation behind it, and enough open space above for the magazine title.”

“So you need an unusually cooperative bird.” Malek followed the direction of my finger, studying the branch.

“I need a miracle with feathers.” I corrected Malek before beginning to move slowly upstream. For the next two hours, I worked. A pair of tanagers gave me several usable frames but nothing cover-worthy. One of the capuchins appeared on the opposite bank and stared directly at me while I raised the camera.

Camera woman again. The capuchin announced from its branch, tilting its head as though my return was personally noteworthy.

“Yes, camera woman again.” I muttered to the capuchin as I adjusted the lens, keeping my voice low so I didn’t startle anything else nearby.

Always looking. The capuchin complained before climbing higher and disappearing behind a curtain of leaves.

“What did it say?” Malek asked from several feet behind me, amusement warming his voice as he watched the branches where the capuchin had vanished.

“Apparently I look too much.” I lowered the camera and glanced back at Malek, unimpressed by the criticism. “Which is a bold complaint from an animal that spent thirty seconds staring at me.”

Malek’s mouth twitched before I turned back toward the creek. A green kingfisher flashed low over the water three separate times, moving fast enough that the first two attempts gave me little more than a blur of green-blue wings above the surface.

Malek carried my spare water bottle after I set it down once and nearly forgot it. He handed it back before I asked, waited while I drank, then took it again when I passed it toward him without thinking. By now, I recognized the gesture for what it was: courtship. The more surprising part was how naturally I had started accepting it.

Near midday, I finally got something. I crouched behind a buttress root after catching movement near an exposed section of bank, expecting another bird. Instead, a sleek brown head appeared between the leaves before a long-bodied Neotropical river otter slipped onto a half-submerged log, whiskers forward and wet fur shining wherever the sunlight reached it. I froze, and Malek did the same behind me. The otter climbed farther onto the log while sunlight caught one side of its face, and I raised the camera slowly until the frame came together almost perfectly: vertical, water beneath it, dark vegetation behind it, and a clean upper corner for the masthead.

The otter turned its head.

You are staring. The otter informed me as it lifted its chin, whiskers twitching while it looked almost directly toward the lens.