He moved swiftly over the lattice of labu, making short work of the maze of matted wire unravelling in front of him. With every step, the mountain unveiled yet another looming incline; another obstacle he had not accounted for.

The humble hill he had once called home was beginning to morph into something he no longer found familiar, its thick vegetation sparking Fear and Excitement. They fought, their conflict simultaneously bursting the bubble he had previously nestled so comfortably in. He was moving away, a bold conclusion for a kukang of his age.

At a brief glance, without squinting, this is no mystery. The slight rip in his upper lip. The missing bottom-left canine. 2+2. Yet to speak of this decision as superficial would be unwise. His humble hill has provided many a blow, it’s different this time. Perhaps Love is at the wheel, driving his heart up the hill with a certainty that could easily be mistaken for memory. Or he is fed up. Fed up of the gnawing he has felt at the feet of the bamboo, the kayu putih, the kaliandra. Like dogs, they snap at their ankles, sometimes only teasing their presence, other times making it very much known.  

He began to slow. He had seldom explored, no, advanced this far from home. With careful intent, he became mindful of his movements. Top right-back left, back right-top left. His body swung below the labu with rhythmic precision, rocking to-and-fro, barely disrupting the surrounding crops. An avocado tree obstructed his path, a sign?

He deserved a break. Breaching above the carpet of vines, he saw how far he had come, further than he had been before, higher than he had ever climbed. The valley lay before him, blanketed in flickering lights, giving little room for the ground below to breathe. Although Mt Cikuray stood miles away from his vantage point, its imposing figure made him believe he had climbed all the way to its untouched escarpments.

It had been a long night, a long week, a long year. He was lucky to have had Cipaganti. The majestic bamboo happily provided shelter, the delicate jiengjen willingly provided food. The humans that had moved to his humble hill so long ago understood and respected him and he had shown his gratitude. But untapped, protected territory lay just beyond the borders of the humans’ gardens, over the river, into the thick wilderness of Papandayan. Branches curled out of its shadowy beginnings as if to invite him in, to tell him he is welcome.

He decided he would sleep on it.