π Sabi Sands, South Africa The Sabi Sands in the green season turns the bush into something close to impenetrable. The light comes through in pieces, landing where it pleases, and the animals move inside it like they always have, which is to say as though the cover belongs to them. Because it does. The foal is pressed against its mother's flank, their stripes running in the same direction, the same logic, the same language. The foal's are softer still, brown at the edges where the adult's are sharp black, not yet fully committed to the pattern they will carry for life. From any distance at all they would simply disappear into the dappled light and the branches. They are not hiding. They just fit here perfectly.