"Tarzan, what is that?"

". . . James-vest."

"Are you sure?" he laughed, "It doesn't look like mine."

She shifted a bit on her haunches, one hand absently picking at the fringe of the new 'vest' she'd clearly made. It was basically a loose, ragged 'shirt', made of the same unknown material as her loincloth, held on by a loop around her neck and waist. But he could easily see she was ashamed, so he was quick to console her, "It's alright, Tarzan, I don't mind. I'm happy that you made one yourself."
It looked a lot better on her. "Was something wrong with the other one?"

"Terk." she admitted.

James seemed confused, as he often was, but took her answer in stride, as he always did.

She'd had to make a new vest, yes. The other one had worn out too easily, and it still smelled strongly like him. There was no way she could've passed it by as her own without Kerchak finding out. Kala certainly suspected something when she made it, but she simply said it was comfortable like fur, and made it less likely for her to get scratched. But she made sure to sneak the vest around with her when the troop moved, and wove it into any new nest she made, secretly indulging in its scent.

It had made sleeping a lot easier.

But she would not, and couldn't yet know how to, tell James that yet.

James was both alarmed and thrilled by the potential challenge of Education.

He was essentially teaching a grown woman what most children had learned from near-birth.

Language was the most imperative, followed by reading, culture, and an elementary understanding of the sciences.

It did not help that said woman had other 'obligations' to her other life that sometimes hindered schooling, or surpassed it.

Oh, but it was fascinating. When they'd shown her astronomy, and the telescope, it appeared she'd had a base understanding of the stars, at least the brighter ones, and had made her own 'pictures' at times, for instance Ursa Major had become what she roughly called 'Kerchak'.

She'd watched the night sky and one could've clearly seen how her eyes were 'open', reflecting the little pinpoints of light.

His mother had been delighted to see how human imagination still grew and performed in an animal upbringing.

Tarzan was infinitely fascinated with the contraptions of England and some of mother's inventions.
The moving picture toy, the globe, the bicycle, the record player, books, watches, and most of all the slide machine.

Her mind was hungry, he'd discovered, given how quickly she'd adapted to his instruction.

And sometimes Education wasn't his only interest in teaching her.

She showed him things, birds, the wilds, the places any English explorer wouldn't have dared to think of investigating,
and her world was beautiful.

She tried to dance with him, and he was glad to teach her, though the positions of the formal dances left him placing a hand on bare skin where there might've been the cloth of a dress, but she hadn't minded, and he soon learned not to, and began to simply enjoy the innocent 'savagery'.

Mr. Clayton was not so appreciative of this 'innocence', trying to show her maps when she clearly couldn't relate a picture to her innate understanding of geography, and appeared to not want to. And James was disappointed at this, but he didn't blame her.

Sometimes he wondered, though, when she retreated back to her jungle, if they shouldn't have taught her. They would be leaving soon, nearly within a month, and the prospect of bringing her to the last conflict between her nature and the new thing she was becoming scared him.

Was he ruining this woman? This 'innocence'? Was he corrupting something that in some circles would've been considered sacred?

Might she hate him, eventually, for making her a conflicting hybrid?

But no, he chided himself, as he was sketching, or watching her work the slide machine, a childlike expression of delight crossing her lean, gently-angled face as she changed out the slides with a dexterous speed, absorbing the pictures with her eyes like a cloth would water.

No, he saw how happy she was, and how he enjoyed her company.
He was falling asleep on the chair as he watched her, and found he was happy.

How could this happiness be a bad thing?

She could watch him, when he didn't think she was there to watch. These creatures were easy to sneak up on, and infinitely amazing to be with.

She got to know things, she was shown things, and she wanted more, and was soon seeing things differently. When she looked up at the stars, she thought of the telescope and the stories behind those stars. She found new ways to use the vines when they taught her 'leverage'.
She found new ways to see and know things that happened by reading them from books.
It was like she found a new way to grow up and be a better ape, and she liked most of them for it.

Porter-Mum was always moving, always excited, and exciting, always willing to show her new things, and was fun to be with.

Clayton was loud, roaring, always exposing his teeth, clearly the 'Alpha' to this group, even having some gray in his head-fur, his 'hair', but he was not her 'Alpha', so she made sure not to challenge him, and worked instead to avoid him and find James, instead. He wasn't a very good Alpha anyway. He'd probably be challenged soon, anyway, and she hoped it was James who would challenge him.

James was quiet, not like the other male he was with, and always made those wonderful 'pictures' that were like reflections but weren't. He'd shown her pictures of birds, of plants, and herself. She was pleased he liked to make pictures of her, and found that looking at them was...odd. Exciting, but odd.

She felt a bit of pride, a bit of confusion, and a bit of worry.

Pride, was that James drew her and liked drawing her. Confusion, why did he, and what did he like about doing it? Worry, was she considered as nice to draw as the other things he drew, and what if he didn't want to any more? But then, he was happy here, and often told her so, in a James-way.

She liked it that he was here, to draw and talk and be quiet and thinking and be what he was for her.

This was where she realized she wanted James. She wanted James to be hers, and wanted him to have her in return.

He would be a good mate, even if he wasn't an Alpha. He was strong, in his kind's way, and quiet, and watchful, like a good leader, and the way he watched her made her happy, and feel protected, interesting, like something special. She decided she truly did want James.

But how to show him this, properly? What she knew and tried didn't work for his kind. She made sure to touch him often, keep her eyes on him, constantly give her approval, but he'd laugh or go red in the face. It was obvious that he was considering her, the way he watched her, but he wasn't responding to her, so clearly she had to try it his way. She looked at pictures of the slide machine, of the females in their things called 'dresses', and looked down at her own things. Her things matched well enough, didn't they? . . . Yes, they did.

Then she saw The Picture, and stopped to look at it.

It was of a female, wearing a simple dress, standing straight and approaching the male, leaning in and up to display her interest, a hand on the male's chest, near his heart, and her other hand on her own heart, keeping eye contact. The female wore flowers in her hair, hair long and down and dark like Tarzan's own, the flowers were considered 'pretty', and her approach was clearly accepted as the male's arms looked like they were going to hold the female.

So this was their courting. She found it.

She smiled at the picture, and then back at James, who was sleeping in the chair, and smiled again.

She'd court him tomorrow, and James would be hers, and they'd both be even happier.