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![[History of UK] Jane Goodall](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/fc70f4de-3fea-454e-95d7-e3f5743fed58/dkowfhe-ca6c4c36-d7f6-4b34-aba7-b6f105e8dc16.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiIvZi9mYzcwZjRkZS0zZmVhLTQ1NGUtOTVkNy1lM2Y1NzQzZmVkNTgvZGtvd2ZoZS1jYTZjNGMzNi1kN2Y2LTRiMzQtYWJhNy1iNmYxMDVlOGRjMTYuanBnIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.MnT1WtH6XZrBZkfW7a-bF0lor7d0z7oiJmT_NmyUhrk)
The late afternoon rays slanted through the tall bay windows of the Thornberrys' safari-style painted lady, scattering amber stripes across the glossy hardwood floor. Eliza sat cross-legged on the tan dog-paw-print sofa, sketchbook on her knees, pencil tapping as she sketched a finch perched on the windowsill. Her red pixie cut caught the sunlight, and her new glasses slid slightly down her nose. Earbuds rested on her dark green hoodie. A faint breeze stirred the delicate lace curtains, carrying the soft scent of nearby bay water.
Darwin sat beside her at the coffee table, elbows on a pile of flashcards for a biology quiz. His prissy navy sweater and dark chinos made him look slightly stiff in the cozy clutter of the living room. A dozen or so potted plants lined the windowsill, stray sketches of birds and squirrels covered the oak coffee table, and a corkboard pinned with maps of city parks and wildlife preserves tilted against the far wall.
“Okay, Darwin Crawley?” Eliza asked like a game show host. “If a marsupial and a placental mammal share the same city park, what’s the biggest difference in how they take care of their babies?”
Before the British boy could reply, the TV in the corner flickered. A breaking news banner scrolled across the screen: “Jane Goodall, Renowned Primatologist, Dies at 91.”
Eliza froze, dropping her pencil. Her chest tightened, and her face paled. “Oh… no.”
Darwin frowned. “Who… who was she?” He was sure he had heard the name somewhere at least once, but he couldn’t place it.
Eliza pushed her glasses up. “She… she was amazing. I actually met her once. She came to Dad's zoology lecture when I was younger.”
“You… met Jane Goodall?” Darwin asked, his voice squeaky with disbelief.
Eliza smiled faintly, holding her sketchbook to her chest as if it kept all the excitement and nerves from spilling out. “Yeah. I was nervous… starstruck even. But she didn’t treat me like a kid or a fan. She just… cared about animals. About understanding them. About protecting them. I’ve tried to remember that ever since.”
Donnie ran in from the backyard, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and a stuffed blue dinosaur missing one eye in the other. He plopped onto the rug with a small thump, bouncing slightly. “She… helped animals? Did she make the dinos not eat the people?”
Eliza laughed softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Not exactly, Donnie. She helped real animals, like monkeys and chimpanzees. She taught that wild animals aren't pets. They need space, freedom… respect. That's why our adventures are safe. We can explore and imagine without taking anything from their home.”
Donnie scrunched up his nose. “Oh… so no pet dinosaurs either?”
“Nope,” Eliza said, ruffling his unkempt dark hair. “Not even pretend ones that bite your finger.”
Darwin leaned back, hands behind his head, blinking slowly. “Oh… okay. Watching and learning is better than grabbing and messing with them. Makes sense.”
Eliza glanced at the TV again, sunlight highlighting the freckles across her nose. “She may be gone, but the way she inspired people… it sticks with you. Every choice we make, even the small stuff… it matters.”
Donnie bounced on his knees, shifting from one side to the other. “So… we can still be adventurers, right? But… smarter adventurers?”
Eliza chuckled, letting him wiggle for a moment before hugging him lightly. “Exactly. Smarter adventurers.”
Through the bay windows, the distant hum of traffic blended with the gentle sounds of the backyard: wind in the trees, a faint chirp of birds, and the occasional squeak of Donnie's sneakers as he ran back and forth. Eliza watched a squirrel vanish into the branches, pencil poised but forgotten. Somewhere between the city’s hum and the rustling leaves, she thought she could almost hear the whispers of wild places waiting to be explored—and she grinned, knowing adventure was never truly far away.