Chapter 66: A fan

Chapter 66 Lenora When Cameron said we had a big day ahead, I thought he meant... I don’t know... a long walk or maybe a fancy breakfast. I didn’t think he meant this. We’re in an open-top safari truck, rumbling down a narrow dirt road with nothing but grasslands, scattered acacia trees, and a sky so impossibly wide it feels like it could swallow me whole. The air is crisp, the kind that feels like it’s rinsing your lungs clean, smelling faintly of sun-baked grass, warm earth, and the occasional sharp tang of animal musk. The morning light is golden, draping itself over the horizon in a way that makes even the dust shimmer. I already feel small out here, but not in a bad way — more like the world is reminding me just how much there is beyond the familiar trees and riverbanks of White Stone Pack. Movement catches my eye — a small herd of zebras grazing lazily by the roadside. Their black-and-white coats gleam under the morning sun, stripes so vivid they almost don’t look real. One of them lifts its head, ears flicking in our direction. For a heartbeat, it just... watches us. Then, as if someone gave a signal, the whole herd startles and bolts in unison, their hooves thudding over the packed dirt before disappearing into the tall grass. The safari guide, a broad-shouldered man in a faded khaki shirt, frowns slightly. "That’s strange," he says, leaning forward a little. "They’re usually curious about vehicles." "Or maybe," Ronan drawls from the row behind us, "there’s a predator nearby." Before he can smirk at his own joke, my foot shoots out and lands squarely on his shin. "Ow!" he hisses, clutching his leg. "Be quiet," I mutter without turning around. Simone’s already giving us a look that screams children, and I’m not about to explain. When I glance at Cameron, he’s already looking at me. Our eyes meet for a moment, and there’s a quiet understanding there — we both know why the animals ran, and it has nothing to do with some random lion lurking nearby. The drive continues, and I see more animals in the space of an hour than I ever imagined I would in my entire life. A troop of baboons grooming each other atop a sun-bleached rock, the adults picking through fur with intense concentration while the younger ones tumble and chase each other in clumsy circles. Giraffes moving through the trees like living sculptures, their heads swaying as they strip leaves from the highest branches. A hippo surfaces in a muddy watering hole, exhaling with a wet snort before sinking back under like it has better things to do. The wind toys with my hair as we pass, carrying with it the mingled scents of dust, grass, and something faintly sweet I can’t place. It’s intoxicating. I lean on the edge of the truck, drinking it all in like I can store it for later. It’s surreal. We spend hours crisscrossing the reserve, following winding trails that cut between clusters of thorn trees and wide open plains. Antelope dart through the grass in graceful arcs, their horns catching the light. Warthogs scurry with their tails sticking straight up like little flags. I take picture after picture, even though I know no photograph will ever capture the heat of the sun on my skin or the way the air tastes here. The guide’s radio crackles suddenly, sharp against the hum of the engine. A burst of static is followed by quick, excited words I can’t quite make out. He listens closely, and then his whole face changes — a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Without a word, he turns the wheel, and the truck lurches onto another track. This time, the hum of the engine deepens. The vehicle picks up speed, bumping over the uneven ground. Dust curls up behind us in a thick, golden plume. "What’s going on?" I call over the wind. The guide just glances back at me briefly, eyes gleaming, and then I see them. At first, they’re just shapes in the distance — huge, slow-moving, impossibly solid. And then the details sharpen. Elephants. I can’t breathe for a second. My heart lurches in my chest. They’re magnificent. The kind of magnificent that feels ancient, untouchable. Their skin is a mosaic of wrinkles, shaded in dusty grays and tans, each crease like it’s been pressed into place by centuries. One swings its trunk lazily as it walks. Another fans its ears, catching the light. And in the middle of them, close enough to make my chest ache, a calf — barely the height of Cameron’s chest — stumbles between two adults, peeking out from behind one of their massive legs. "Oh my goddess," I whisper, and my voice sounds strange in my own ears. The guide slows us to a crawl. "A breeding herd this close... you’re very lucky," he says, voice low, almost reverent. Lucky doesn’t even cover it. I’m devouring every detail — the way the calf’s ears flap when it trips over a root, the faint, thrumming sound I can feel in my bones when one of the adults rumbles a warning, the deliberate, weighty steps that leave deep imprints in the earth. Somewhere behind me, Ronan says something again, but it’s little more than a buzzing in the background. Cameron’s arm brushes mine, and when I glance at him, he’s not watching the elephants. He’s watching me. The calf lets out a high, playful trumpet, and I laugh — loud and unrestrained — the sound carried away by the open air. It sends an arrow straight through my heart. So cute. I can’t believe it — after years of only seeing them behind a screen, in documentaries and photographs, they’re here. Real. Breathing. Close enough that I can see the gentle sway of their eyelashes, the curve of a trunk as it curls toward the ground. I extend my hand over the edge of the truck without thinking, like some part of me believes if I just reach far enough, my fingers might brush that ancient, living skin. The calf glances my way, ears flicking, and for a moment, it feels like it sees me — really sees me. The air hums with a quiet vibration from one of the adults, and I swear I can feel it in my ribs. "Careful," the guide murmurs, not unkindly. "They’re gentle, but wild." I nod, but I can’t tear my eyes away. My chest is so full it almost aches, like my heart can’t quite contain all of it — the wonder, the gratitude, the absolute disbelief that I get to witness this.