The Call of the Savannah
The propeller plane shuddered one last time before settling into silence, and for a moment nobody moved. Then the door swung open, sunlight poured in like molten gold, and the cabin erupted.
"We're here! We're actually here!" Endou Mamoru was already unbuckling himself before the stewardess could finish her announcement, bounding down the narrow aisle with his duffel bag bouncing against his hip. He practically threw himself down the rickety metal stairs, boots hitting the sunbaked tarmac with a thud that sent a puff of red dust rising around his ankles.
He stood there for a second, arms spread wide, drinking in a lungful of air that tasted nothing like Tokyo. It was dry and sweet at once, grass baked gold under a relentless sun, mixed with something wilder underneath — an earthy, electric scent, like the sky itself was gathering its breath before a storm that hadn't arrived yet.
"Smell that?" he called back over his shoulder, grinning so wide his eyes nearly disappeared. "That's the smell of adventure!"
"That's the smell of jet fuel and goat dung, Captain," Kazemaru said dryly, stepping down after him, shading his eyes against the glare. But even he couldn't suppress the…