"But this is no place for you," Peter Gross expostulated.
"The jungle is my home," Koyala said with simple pride. "The Argus Pheasant nests in the thickets."
"Surely not at night?"
"What is there to harm me?" Koyala smiled wearily at his alarm.
"But the wild beasts, the tigers, and the leopards, and the orang-utans in the hill districts, and the snakes?"
"They are all my friends. When the tiger calls, I answer. If he is hungry, I keep away. I know all the sounds of the jungle; my grandfather, Chawatangi, taught them to me. I know the warning hiss of the snake as he glides through the grasses, I know the timid hoofbeat of the antelope, I know the stealthy rustle of the wild hogs. They and the jackals are the only animals I cannot trust."
"But where do you sleep?"
"If the night is dark and there is no moon, I cut a bundle of bamboo canes. I bind these with creepers to make a platform and hang it in a tree. Then I swing between heaven and earth as securely or more securely, than you do in your house, for I am safe from the malice of men. If it rains I make a shelter of palm-leaves on a bamboo frame. These things one learns quickly in the forest."
"You wonderful woman!" Peter Gross breathed in admiration.
Koyala smiled. She lay stretched out her full length on the ground. Peter Gross squatted beside her.