He listened intently, drinking in every word. Usually she had him read, but when the words were too hard and the sentences too complex she would read to him. He couldn't always get her to trade his books for hers when it was time to read, but, he'd found, if it was one her favorites, she was more willing to give in. The book was called "Jane Eyre." It was a story about a young girl that went on a journey. This Jane seemed to be similar to his Jane, but maybe all women named Jane were alike.

He enjoyed reading time so much more when she was doing the reading. Her voice flowed easily over the words, even the hard ones that he still didn't recognize. He'd learned the word "register" for the way her voice was different when she read from when she talked normally. It fascinated him, all that there was to learn about the world she came from. The world across oceans and seas, where people wore dresses and hats and overcoats and rode in things called carriages pulled by horses (a beast similar to the zebra in shape, but larger and apparently with a very different temperament).

When he wasn't thinking only of the way her voice sounded as she read or the way her eyes flitted across the page and widened and narrowed as she read parts that were exciting or tense, he was trying to understand the story. From what he understood (there were still many unfamiliar words) but there seemed to be a man that Jane Eyre was working for and she did not like him. Or maybe she did… It was all a bit confusing, and maybe it was supposed to be. Jane had explained how books tried to describe things that aren't always easily understood and how sometimes you had to look deeper and "read what wasn't there." He wasn't sure he could do that, especially since he wasn't the one reading right now.

There was one word, however, that particularly interested him. It seemed to hold so much and be so important for how small a word it was. Such a short word. He didn't know how to spell it as he hadn't read it for himself yet, but he was sure it was only one syllable. Towards the beginning of the book there were so many words he didn't know that it was lost amongst them. As time went on he had stopped Jane and asked her about this word or that. "Impulsive" meant acting without thinking and "tranquil" meant calm or peaceful and so on. But this word was not used often, it came along unexpectedly and wove itself in so that more often than not he missed it completely.

Now, he decided to listen again, the past few pages had brought the feeling back. The feeling that the word invoked. She spoke about Mr. Rochester, and he wasn't sure why but he thought that Mr. Rochester must be a part of that word, at least for this woman, Jane Eyre.

"...For when I say that I am of his kind," Jane read, "I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must then repeat continually that we are forever sundered; - and yet, while I breathe and think I must love him."

"Jane," he said suddenly, his excitement at catching the word making him forget the way she had told him to address her properly. She looked up slowly from the book, reluctantly, as if it was hard to draw herself away from the pages.

"Yes?"

"That word...what does it mean?" Tarzan asked, eager for every chance to have her explain something unfamiliar to him.

"Which word is that?" she asked, with a little smile and a look in her eyes that said she knew.

"...Love," he tried the word out on his tongue. It even felt special. His lips wrapping around it, no pops or taps but just a gentle, steady vibration first over his tongue then rounding out and coming together with his teeth pressed against his lip.

Her smile grew. "I was curious when you would ask about that. It's a very important word and it's what this whole book is about...and many more." He matched her smile with one of his own, proud of pleasing her.

"First of all, it's a feeling. You know some of the feelings: We like things, we dislike things, there are things that make us sad and things that make us happy. To love is the most precious and powerful feeling of all. It can hold all of the other feelings within it. It's when you care more about someone else than you do about yourself. It's what we feel for our family. I love my father, and he loves me. But we can feel it for other people too. For friends that we especially like," she smiled, but then her face changed and her eyes drifted to the horizon. "But then there's another kind of love, even greater, that we can feel when we find someone special. Someone that we wouldn't feel complete without. And that's when love can make you feel anything. Because that person holds your heart. You're happier with them than you've ever been. You see and feel things you didn't before. They make you laugh and smile and dance. But then, they can also make you cry. When you really love someone, them leaving would make you more sad than you even know how to be and you feel broken and lost. That's what these books are about, how love can change you and help you be and feel better, but it can also destroy you. Not everyone is able to trust someone that much. To give someone that much power over them. But if they let it, it can be the best thing they ever do."

She continued looking far away after she finished, her mouth was turned up in a smile again, but her eyes looked almost sad. Tarzan couldn't look away from her face. He was right that this word was more than it seemed to be. It held more than he would have thought possible. Her definitions were often quite long when she was describing a word. But very seldom did they completely change the way he thought about the world. This word: "love" was something he was familiar with. Something he'd seen and felt in the jungle. When his mother held him close after he would wake up from terrible dreams as a child. When lions would wrestle with their cubs in the tall grass, playing as though it were a fight to the death. And now it had a name. Love.

Finally she sighed and returned her gaze to his. Looking into her eyes, he realized that the jungle wasn't the only place he'd experienced this feeling. Jane looked down and continued to read and Tarzan listened to her voice but continued to think about his new word.