Well, kings in a land of granola. I figured I’d ration the bars later, but for now we were going to enjoy them. Otto preferred his mashed into milk and I had mine as is, gulping down three cinnamon-flavored bars in as many minutes. Songololo looked longingly at us while we ate, but refused to come near. She’d cried in torment while I’d removed the rope from her wrist and sat rocking for a few minutes by the edge of the pond, one hand in the other, staring into the water. Once he’d eaten, Otto sat beside her, his feet against hers. He delicately took her hand and traced his finger over the red wound. She winced, but tolerated the attention. When Otto returned to me, Songololo trailed him. She picked at the bits of granola left in the cup I’d fashioned from half a water bottle that must have blown into the enclosure long ago, and when I poured some more milk in, she drank it willingly. Once finished, Songololo moved a few feet away, sitting on her haunches and staring at us.
