The story

What is all this tallness for?

Juma is the tallest calf in the herd, with long legs, a long neck and two fuzzy ossicones, and he cannot think what it is all for. “Perhaps today will show you,” his mother says. At breakfast his long purple-blue tongue slips between the acacia thorns and brings a sweet sprig down within reach of Mosi, the smallest calf.

Then the grass grows taller than the calves and hides the way, and Juma’s head rises above it to find sunlight flashing on far water. By afternoon he is the first to see the rain curtains coming. And every time, the same little question floats up from below: up, up, up, what do you see?

Being tall is for helping others know what lies ahead.

Juma Looks Up. A Little Wilds story. For every little explorer.

The Big Stretch · reach it with him

EN “Up, up, up... what do you see?”

Reach up one word at a time, until you are high on your very tiptoes, and then answer the question out loud the way Juma does. It comes back three times in the story, from his mother and from his friend Mosi, and each time the answer is bigger: a friend with a very good leaf, the waterhole, rain coming. On the last page it is whispered lying down, with his head resting low.

Macro at the branch tip: Juma's long purple-blue tongue curled in a careful spiral around a tender sprig of green leaves, slipping exactly between the long silver thorns, small Mosi gazing up open-mouthed below.

Page 04

“Juma stretched his neck. His long purple-blue tongue curled around the leaves, slipping carefully between the thorns, and pulled a tender sprig within Mosi’s reach.”

The first thing tallness is good for: handing breakfast down to a smaller friend.

Juma standing tall again with bright droplets falling from his chin, bending his gaze down along his own great front legs, little Mosi beside him looking up mid-compliment, their two reflections wobbling on the sunlit water.

Page 10

“Mosi waited until Juma stood tall again. ‘Your legs are useful too,’ he said. Juma looked down at all four of them as if meeting them properly.”

Friendship at two very different heights, at the edge of the waterhole.

Juma's head high in the frame against silver-and-gold storm light, ears lifted tall, nostrils rounded to the cool new smell, his mother's head rising beside his at the frame edge.

Page 13

“Up, up, up... what do you see?” his mother asked. Juma’s ears lifted. “Rain coming. Cool, good rain.”

Good news, delivered from the top of a long neck.

Close three-face portrait in bright rain: Juma, small Mosi and Juma's tall mother with their heads gathered near, rain-jeweled lashes and glistening patched necks, mid-conversation.

Page 16

“‘Tallness is useful for looking,’ Juma said. ‘And reaching,’ Mosi added. ‘And helping others know what lies ahead,’ his mother said.”

The whole question of the book, answered in the rain by three gentle voices.

Night close-up: Juma's head resting low along his flank, his throat softly full with his own small hum, and a little way off Mosi's smaller folded shape lifting his head just enough to hum back.

Page 19

“Juma answered with a small hum of his own. It was not loud, but Mosi heard it nearby and hummed back.”

A goodnight passed between friends, in the voice nobody knew giraffes had.

Dream-soft moonlit macro of Juma's face, eyes almost closed, the shapes he loves resting at the frame's edges, his mother's muzzle near his ear.

Page 21

“‘Sweet leaves, shining water, rain clouds, and everyone beside me,’ he said, his eyes already closing.”

The last answer of the day, and the best one.

The big view, as Juma learns it

One question, asked three times

The same little question carries Juma through the whole day. In the morning it finds a friend with a very good leaf. In the tall grass it finds the waterhole nobody else can see. In the afternoon it finds rain walking in from the horizon. And at night, with his head resting low, Juma whispers it himself, and answers with everyone beside me.

Golden grass rising over the calves' heads on every side, seed heads blazing in the high midday sun, the little patched shapes visible only in glimpses between the stems. — Grass taller than a calf

the way to the waterhole disappears

Morning establishing shot in golden knee-high grass: Juma standing off-center beside his mother, every other calf around them smaller than he is. — One head above the rest

sunlight flashing on far open water

Juma's long neck curved fully down, his head pillowed low against his own warm patched side, his mother's great head bending into the frame from above. — Asked lying down

the same words, whispered into sleep

“‘Tallness is useful for looking,’ Juma said. ‘And reaching,’ Mosi added. ‘And helping others know what lies ahead,’ his mother said.”

True on every page

One real fact per page

Checked by hand, woven into the story, never a bare label. Three from Juma’s day:

“People once thought giraffes were nearly silent, but at night, resting herds hum softly to each other.”

Page 18. The night hum is real, and it is the quietest surprise in the book.

“His long purple-blue tongue curled around the leaves, slipping carefully between the thorns.”

Page 4. A giraffe's dark tongue works past acacia thorns without touching one of them.

“Drinking took balance and patience when the ground was so far below his mouth.”

Page 9. The front legs spread wide in the true giraffe straddle, and the long neck slopes carefully down.

Two sizes, two languages

Two sizes. Two languages.

Dos tamaños. Dos idiomas.

The same page, two ways. One tap on the front page sets the size, and every one of the twenty-one stories follows, the art and the big view unchanged. El español is in final translation; it isn’t finished until it reads aloud as warmly as the English.

Big kids · 5–12 · English

“Up, up, up... what do you see?” his mother asked. Juma looked over the calves. “I see one friend chewing a very good leaf.”

Little · 2–5 · English

“Up, up, up... what do you see?” “I see one friend chewing a very good leaf.”

The very same page from Juma Looks Up · page 5 of 22