As Tina moved through the morning chores—checking food supplies, tending to minor wounds, making sure the younger animals weren’t getting into trouble—she felt the familiar, grounding sense of purpose settle over her. The hartebeest with the scarred flank needed her leg checked, and one of the kudu calves had a healing wound that needed tending. The staff worked efficiently alongside her, accustomed to the rhythm of care since before Tina had joined.

When she had settled at the lodge with Bette, she had worried about her sense of purpose, away from her ledgers, the big city she had called home but this life, surrounded by creatures who had been given a second chance—had become Tina’s passion, her responsibility. The animals weren’t just guests; they were family, each with a story, each dependent on the care she and her team provided.

Nearby, a trio of warthogs, led by an old male named Sergeant, snuffled through the dirt with their blunt tusks, looking for anything remotely edible. Sergeant was battle-worn, his ears tattered from too many scuffles, but he was fiercely protective of his two younger companions—Pumpkin and Noodles—who followed him everywhere. Noodles, the smallest, had a habit of trying to squeeze into places he didn’t belong, most often the kitchen, much to the frustration of Augustine.

The sun was high on the horizon, when Tina stepped into the milk preparation area, the warm scent of formula and grain lingering in the air. The space was simple but efficient; shelves stacked with large containers of powdered milk replacer, buckets neatly arranged, and a massive industrial kettle heating water for the morning feedings. A few of the younger keepers were already busy, measuring and mixing, their voices low and rhythmic, a steady hum of the morning routine.

Jonas stood at the counter, his broad back, clad in the foundation green coat, turned to her as he carefully stirred a batch of milk, the thick liquid swirling in the large metal bucket. He glanced up as she entered, his weathered face breaking into a small but familiar smile.

“Jambo, Mama Tina,” he greeted, his deep voice carrying the warmth of someone who had long considered her family.

Tina smiled, leaning against the counter. “Morning, Jonas. How did the little ones do last night?”