Before the leap, a pause. He cocks, guages space, and springs. His trap-sprung torso twisting, uncurling, until, at full extension, the sign of the great dare, the wait for judgement, a prayer to the frictive air. Then one claw catches, pulls the branch down. Another finds purchase, a tuck and a roll to eat momentum, and, without hitch or stutter, a miraculous frog walk to a firm limb, always glancing back.
Black eyes accuse the cause, shame the doubt.