Page 74 of Beasts of Mine

I simply expected them to.

The photography only got better.

I spent most of the third afternoon in the blind after finding fresh tapir tracks along the muddy edge of the clearing. Waiting was usually the least glamorous part of wildlife photography. Hours could disappear into heat, insects, numb legs, and absolutely nothing happening.

That afternoon, the waiting paid off.

A female tapir emerged first. I saw the movement before I saw her body, a slight disturbance in the vegetation near the far side of the clearing. She stepped into view cautiously, rounded ears turning toward every sound while her nose tested the air.

Then another shape appeared behind her.

A nearly grown calf.

I barely breathed.

The pair moved slowly along the edge of the clearing, feeding as they went. I took the first photographs cautiously, leaving enough time between bursts that the shutter wouldn't become a constant distraction.

Then the calf stepped through a break in the vegetation.

Late-afternoon light reached through the canopy behind it, catching along the edges of both animals while enormous green leaves framed them on either side.

I pressed the shutter.

Once.

Twice.

A short burst.

Then they moved on.

I stayed in the blind long after they disappeared, staring at the back of the camera. The photographs were extraordinary—not simply usable or merely good, but the kind I would remember taking years from now.

By the time I returned to camp, I was still buzzing from the experience. I climbed onto the platform, set my camera carefully on the table, and stopped.

Something was different.

Not wrong.

Just different.

Cat had spent hours resting beside the steps over the last few days. The amber-eyed leopard had adopted the space beneath my worktable as one of his preferred places to collapse, while the darker leopard usually settled near the rear support where the shade lasted longest.

Their scents had worked into the areas they frequented—the wooden boards, the steps, the edge of the canvas, and the ground surrounding the platform. Mine had mixed with theirs simply because I'd been living in the same small space.

Then there were the objects.

The straight stick still leaned against one support.

The feather rested beside my camera case.

Two flowers occupied a metal mug with a little water because apparently I had become the sort of woman who arranged flowers brought to her by a leopard.

A smooth stone sat beside my notebook.

I stared at the collection.

“This is ridiculous,” I told the three leopards, sliding the camera strap from my shoulder while I looked around the camp. The amber-eyed leopard raised his head from beneath the worktable.