Not much.
Just enough to matter.
The animal moved past him, then turned and settled on the ground three feet away, facing the darkness where the hunters had disappeared.
It lay there like a carved thing of gold and shadow, enormous paws crossed, ears flicking once in a while at sounds Ricardo could not hear.
It was not resting.
It was waiting.
Time blurred after that.
The jungle darkened, though Ricardo could not tell whether minutes or an hour passed. Mosquitoes found his neck and face. His shoulders burned. Then went numb. Then burned again. Sweat dried on him and returned. The rope that had loosened near one arm now cut into him differently, which hurt in its own new way.
Very carefully, without taking his eyes fully off the jaguar, Ricardo began testing the small bit of movement in his right hand.
At first there was almost nothing.
Then a quarter inch.
Then, after several agonizing attempts that left his breath ragged and his muscles shaking, he managed to twist his wrist enough for the bark to scrape skin instead of rope alone.
It was a miserable victory.
But it was a victory.
The jaguar heard the movement and turned its head toward him.
Ricardo froze.
The animal watched him for a long moment, then looked away again toward the undergrowth, as if deciding that whatever clumsy thing the human was doing did not matter unless it changed the balance of the clearing.
Rain began again.
Continued on the next page
