Page 71 of Beasts of Mine

“That is exactly the sort of thing people say before something goes badly,” I informed the darker leopard, adjusting my camera strap as I followed him between two enormous roots.

You came anyway, the darker leopard pointed out, continuing down the narrow path while one green-gold eye flicked back toward me.

“That says more about me than I'd like,” I admitted to the darker leopard, carefully stepping over a root slick with moss. The path eventually opened beside a massive fallen tree overlooking a shallow slope. At first, I didn't understand why he'd brought me there.

Then something rustled overhead. A small group of capuchins moved through the branches on the far side of the clearing. Before I could even lift my camera, movement appeared lower down.

Squirrel monkeys.

Then another shape crossed through the upper canopy.

Spider monkey.

I stared.

The darker leopard settled beside the exposed roots of the fallen tree as though none of this was remotely remarkable.

“You knew they'd be here,” I told the darker leopard, dropping into a crouch while I pulled my camera into position.

Usually are, the darker leopard replied, folding his paws neatly in front of himself while his gaze followed one of the capuchins overhead.

I didn't bother answering.

For the next hour, I barely spoke.

The grove was a gift. Fruit pulled animals into the area from several directions, and from where the darker leopard had placed me, I had a clear line of sight through a natural opening in the vegetation. I photographed squirrel monkeys racing through the lower branches, a mother capuchin carrying an infant against her belly, and one spider monkey hanging by its tail long enough for me to catch the exact moment it reached toward a cluster of fruit.

By the time activity finally slowed, I'd taken more than four hundred photographs. I sat back against the fallen trunk and started reviewing them while the darker leopard remained near the roots.

“You did that on purpose,” I told the darker leopard, enlarging one of the capuchin photographs while he rested beside me.

Yes, the darker leopard told me, closing his eyes as though deliberately guiding photographers toward ideal wildlife locations was a perfectly ordinary leopard hobby.

I lowered the camera.

“Do you know where everything in this forest is?” I asked the darker leopard, studying him while afternoon light warmed the gold along his shoulder.

Most things, the darker leopard replied, opening one green-gold eye before letting it close again.

I waited for more.

Nothing came.

“That's not unsettling at all,” I told the darker leopard, returning my attention to the photographs while one of his ears flicked lazily in response.

The amber-eyed leopard took a very different approach to being helpful.

He continued bringing me things.

Lots of things.

Fruit remained the most common, which was useful enough that I didn't complain. He brought me two different kinds before lunch and watched with intense satisfaction while I checked both before adding them to my food supplies.

Flowers appeared twice. The first was a small cluster of bright orange blooms he placed beside my camera bag. The second was white and fragrant, still wet from wherever he'd found it.

A brilliantly colored feather appeared beside my cot when I returned from the blind.

So did another smooth stone.