The clearing loosened around us.
I started the jeep.
What the hell just happened there?
Beside me, the notebook stayed shut. Ten minutes ago Juliette had been a stenographer of the bush, writing down every damn bird call and blade of grass. But the second the bull turned on us, the pen disappeared.
She didn’t need notes for that.
She’d gone still the same way the bull had.
The engine came alive low under my hand. I eased us backward along the track we’d taken in. Slow enough not to challenge. Steady enough not to hesitate.
The herd stayed where it was. One calf shifted closer to the cow beside it. Dust settled.
Only when the ridge cut them from view did the air inside the vehicle change.
Juliette drew a breath through her nose and let it out slowly. “Well. That settles a few things.”
I kept my eyes on the track. “You’re welcome.”
The jeep rolled over a washboard patch of dirt. Thorn scrub brushed the side panel with a dry hiss. Heat was already building under the late-morning sun, lifting the smell of dust and warmed scrub into the open frame.
For a minute neither of us said anything.
That was unusual too.
Juliette watched the ground ahead like she was reviewing evidence. She snapped her notebook back open.
“You waited,” I said.
Her pen hovered above the page. “For what?”
“To write.”
“I prefer complete information.”
The pen moved.
Small strokes. Fast. Controlled.
“What did the complete information tell you?”
“That elephants don’t bluff for the sake of drama.”
“No.”
“They also don’t appreciate being questioned during active operations.”
A corner of my mouth moved before I stopped it. “That would be the first useful thing you’ve written all morning.”
She kept her eyes on the page. “You wound me, Nick.”
I let the jeep idle at the top of the basin and took the notebook out of her hands before she could pull it back.
Her head turned.
“That’s mine.”
