It was five in the morning.
The sky had yet to brighten when Bi Fang got up, washed up, rolled up his sleeves, and inserted the freshly wiped hunting knife into his waistband.
Jerry, who hadn't had much to do the past few days, also crawled out of his little nest and directly burrowed into a backpack.
With everything ready, Bi Fang went to the cheetah's room, opened the iron gate, dragged the sleeping cheetah up, and with Old Barry's help, they too took a sightseeing car and left the conservation center, heading for the savanna.
Harley sat in the back seat, its fur fluttering in the breeze, facing into the wind, its eyes squeezed into slits, yawning non-stop, revealing a pair of sturdy fangs.
After yesterday's "trust" test, this time Bi Fang didn't grab hold of Harley's scruff and let it swing back and forth on the car.
"This is good," Bi Fang said.
