Sarv Velin comes down from the platform the way water comes off a rock: slowly, and without asking anyone's permission.
He stops well outside arm's reach, hands loose, and looks at you the way a man reads a label he does not trust.
"Three of us, then,"
he says.
"He will be furious about it for a week and then he will be furious about something else. I am the one who stays interesting."
His tail sways once behind him. Behind the glass, a family with two children has stopped to watch, and he does not turn his head.
"Two in the afternoon, the platform above the pond,"
he says.
"Come up on your own feet or do not come up at all."