As night fell, a profound tranquility climbed the deep blue sky, draping the earth in a peaceful silence.
Titan followed Old Larry back to his enclosure at a leisurely pace.
However, he couldn’t help but stare at the brand-new, thick stainless steel water basin Old Larry was carrying.
“I honestly have no idea why you suddenly love using these things to grind your teeth.
Just please be careful not to accidentally swallow any sharp shards.”
Old Larry looked down at the heavy steel basin in his hands, then back at Titan, offering a worried, fatherly warning.
Titan wasn’t worried in the slightest.
He even tried to show off by attempting a Cuban crocodile’s signature terrestrial hop.
He failed miserably.
His stubby little legs simply couldn’t support the aerodynamic maneuver.
Clang.
The iron gate swung open.
The enclosure, though modest in size, welcomed its owner back home.
Splash.
Titan quickly darted into the small lake.
He felt the refreshing chill envelop his body, the water deeply moisturizing his thick scales.
He was finding himself becoming more and more inextricably linked to the water.
Even though he had only been ashore for half the day, his skin felt unbearably dry.
It wasn’t a physical discomfort like dehydration or thirst; it was just a powerful, instinctual craving to be submerged.
That is strange.
Old Larry stood in the doorway, still debating whether he needed to officially install a protective roof over Titan’s enclosure.
Wild owls posed a massive threat to small animal cubs.
He looked down at the heavy steel basin in his hands and reconsidered.
If a wild owl could somehow carry away a heavy, armored crocodile that literally chewed on solid steel for fun, then what would a flimsy netting roof even do to stop it?
Old Larry suddenly let out a self-deprecating chuckle.
He wondered why a man his age was wasting time worrying about such completely unrealistic scenarios.
Splash.
He watched Titan happily frolicking in the water.
Not wanting to disturb the reptile’s evening swim, Old Larry gently placed the steel basin on the grass, closed the iron gate, and walked quietly down the hall.
However, the absolute second Old Larry’s footsteps faded away, Titan stopped thrashing about.
He instantly transformed into a motionless piece of dead driftwood, staring intently at the iron gate.
“Rumble.”
After completely confirming the old man was gone, Titan emitted a low, rumbling hum.
A few tiny bubbles rose to the surface of the lake.
Whoosh.
A gentle night breeze swept past.
The eagle-owl silently dropped from the sky, landing gracefully on a branch overlooking the small island.
She immediately began preening her feathers, casting a highly disdainful look at the crocodile submerged in the lake.
Huh.
Her eyes look so weird right now.
Well, it makes sense.
Owls absolutely hate getting wet.
Titan understood her hesitation.
He sank into the shallows, scrounging around the muddy bottom until he retrieved the heavy metal flashlight he had claimed from the burglars the night before.
He figured he would play with it to pass the time.
Drip, drop.
Water splashed softly against the bank as Titan slowly climbed onto the grass.
He placed the heavy metal cylinder on the lawn and used his tiny claw to push the heavy rubber switch.
Nothing happened.
Did the water ruin it?
It has only been submerged for a couple of days.
Titan tilted his head, staring at the flashlight in confusion.
Only then did he notice the shattered glass lens and the crushed LED bulb.
Oh, right.
Because his owl sister hated bright lights, he had aggressively smashed the bulb the night before.
Now he couldn’t play with it.
How sad.
Tap, tap.
The eagle-owl hopped down from her branch, landing softly on the grass right in front of Titan.
She stared at the dark, useless flashlight, then aggressively stomped on it twice in a fit of pure avian rage.
Owls possess incredible memories, especially when it comes to holding deep-seated grudges.
In her mind, this broken metal tube was the ultimate symbol of her and Titan’s very first joint hunting operation, where the prey had humiliated her by escaping.
“Rumble.”
Titan didn’t mind her temper tantrum.
After the eagle-owl finished venting her frustration, he simply picked the heavy flashlight back up and casually tossed it into the deepest part of the lake.
The night was still incredibly long.
Titan, who hadn’t actually slept a wink since being reborn, clearly had no intention of going to bed.
He looked at his owl partner, then surveyed his territory, pondering what fun, chaotic things they could do next.
Smack!
The eagle-owl suddenly tensed, sensing something in the distance.
Titan, completely oblivious, turned around clumsily, his heavy tail violently slapping against the wet grass.
Annoyed by his complete lack of stealth, the owl ignored his wet scales and sharply swatted the back of his head with her wing.
Titan didn’t even flinch.
He just looked at the owl.
Her eerie green eyes were wide, her head locked perfectly still.
She had clearly detected something.
Trusting her superior nocturnal senses, Titan immediately dropped his belly to the grass and waited in silence.
“Squeak…
squeak…”
The cool evening breeze carried a faint, pathetic commotion.
It was a sound completely out of place in the silent night—a helpless cub desperately crying out for its mother.
Titan heard it.
Actually, he didn’t just hear it; he immediately recognized exactly who it was.
The eagle-owl remained entirely on edge.
She had no idea the zoo had gained a new resident that afternoon.
In her wild, predatory mind, a cub making that kind of distressed noise meant its mother had either been hunted or they had been permanently separated.
In short, it signaled extreme danger.
Of course, she failed to realize that the two most dangerous things currently residing in the entire zoo were Titan during the day, and Titan plotting with her at night.
Nudge.
Titan gently bumped his snout against the eagle-owl’s wing, earning a highly puzzled glare in return.
With his stubby legs working overtime, Titan scrambled over to the heavy iron gate.
He stretched his right paw toward the metal drop-latch and looked back at the owl, pleading for aerial assistance.
Rustle.
The eagle-owl quickly grasped his ridiculous plan.
Instead of offering her usual low hoot of approval, she stared down at the overly-excited crocodile with a look of profound, exhausted helplessness.
Then, she took off silently.
Clink, clink, clink.
A faint metallic rattling echoed from the top of the iron gate.
The heavy latch was being repeatedly struck.
It was incredibly fortunate that Old Larry hadn’t installed an actual padlock; otherwise, the owl wouldn’t have been able to open it even given a hundred years of evolution.
Click!
With a sharp, metallic snap, the eagle-owl finally managed to yank the heavy latch completely out of its hole.
Titan had actively demonstrated the locking mechanism to her the night before when dealing with the front gate.
Thankfully, the highly intelligent bird had paid close attention.
Creak.
Titan waited patiently for a few seconds, ensuring the owl was clear, before pushing the heavy iron gate open with his snout.
He waddled out of his enclosure into the dark corridor.
He quickly spotted the eagle-owl perched on a low stone ledge nearby.
He offered a soft growl, signaling for his partner in crime to follow him.
The owl didn’t respond immediately.
She listened intently to the cub’s pathetic whimpering, which was growing louder as they approached.
She was clearly confused by the situation, but she obediently hopped along the stone ledges, trailing behind the waddling crocodile.
Tap, tap.
Titan arrived at the reinforced glass window of Bear Number Four’s enclosure.
He looked up at the high stone sill, took a deep breath, and prepared for a struggle.
Scrape, scrape.
His thick scales scraped loudly against the concrete wall as Titan desperately used his powerful hind legs to push his heavy body upward.
It wasn’t elegant in the slightest, but he eventually managed to hook his chin over the edge of the viewing sill.
The eagle-owl simply watched the pathetic display from a nearby wall.
She occasionally glanced through the glass into the bear exhibit, confirming that the distressed whimpering was coming from underneath a bright red plastic bucket on the lawn.
Screech.
Titan’s tiny claw gently scratched against the thick glass, making a sharp noise.
Bear Number Four’s frantic whimpering stopped instantly.
The cub was clearly terrified.
It timidly peeked one dark eye out from under the rim of the red bucket.
After hesitating for a long, agonizing minute, it slowly began to shuffle toward the source of the noise, using the plastic bucket like a protective turtle shell.
“Squeak?”
“Rumble.”
Bear Number Four let out a tentative, trembling call.
Titan immediately responded with a warm, comforting hum.
Clatter.
The red bucket was finally tossed aside.
Bear Number Four was much friendlier toward Titan than the blind tiger cub had been.
After all, Titan had actively helped him eat his first fish.
Unfortunately, the bear cub was far too small to reach the high stone sill and actually see Titan through the glass.
It could only curl up into a pathetic, broken little ball of fur and lean heavily against the cold concrete wall, seeking comfort in proximity.
“Squeak?”
“Rumble.”
Seeing the cub settle down, Titan dropped back onto the corridor floor.
He laid his belly on the cold stone, patiently responding to the little black bear’s anxious whimpers through the wall.
As the self-appointed Assistant Zoo Director, Titan felt it was his absolute duty to care for the physical and mental well-being of the animal residents.
This was especially vital considering they were all entirely reliant on Old Larry, an amateur zookeeper who meant well but clearly had no idea how to handle severe animal trauma.
Old Larry could provide enough food to keep them alive, but addressing psychological distress?
That was way above the old man’s pay grade.
Titan would just have to handle it himself.
“Squeak?”
“Rumble.”
The eagle-owl watched the bizarre therapy session for a long time.
Once she realized there was absolutely no danger present, she hopped down from the ledge and stepped directly onto Titan’s broad, scaly back, treating him like a comfortable heated rock.
Titan paused for a second, but didn’t shake her off.
He simply lay comfortably on the floor, patiently returning the little black bear’s calls over and over again without any rush.
“Squeak…”
“Rumble.”
The bear’s frantic whimpering gradually slowed down, losing its edge of panic.
Eventually, the calls faded away entirely, replaced by the steady, rhythmic breathing of a sleeping cub.
Titan stayed in the dark corridor for a full twenty minutes to ensure the bear wouldn’t wake up in a panic.
Only then did he finally stand up, carrying his owl partner on his back, and slowly waddle back to his own enclosure for the night.