Green was his quiet color.
Loko the panther chameleon sat on a branch in the warm forests of northern Madagascar, green from nose to tail, matching the leaves the way morning matches sunlight. One of his eyes, turning all by itself, watched a fly on a twig below. His other eye, on an errand of its own, kept watch on the branch road behind him.
Two eyes, two directions, one very calm lizard.
His feet gripped the branch like little tongs. His tail curled behind him like a fern. All was well.
Then his back eye saw it.
Orange.
A flare of orange in his own tree, moving up the branch road. Another male panther chameleon, and a big one, walking the slow rocking walk that chameleons use, swaying like a leaf in a breeze.
Panther chameleons live alone. One tree, one chameleon. That is the oldest rule in their forest.
Loko's heart beat fast. The stranger was larger, heavier, longer. In a pushing contest, Loko would need a miracle.
Luckily, chameleons settle things another way.
Loko walked out onto a bare branch where the light fell full and strong. He turned his side to the stranger, stood tall, and flattened himself like a leaf turned edgewise, to look as grand as possible.
Then he spoke.
Deep in his skin, millions of crystals, each far too small to see, began to shift. Stretched apart, they bounced back fiery light. Loko's calm green blazed into bands of burning orange and red, bright as a flag, bright as a shout.
This branch is spoken for, said his colors. I am exactly where I belong.
The stranger blazed back. Brighter. Bigger. He rocked from foot to foot and flashed like a sunset with opinions.
Loko held steady.
One of his eyes stayed fixed on the rival. The other eye, which had its own ideas about important matters, followed a fat fly drifting past. Out shot his tongue, longer than his whole body, faster than a blink, and the argument paused briefly while Loko swallowed.
Even during an argument, breakfast is breakfast.
Maybe it was the steadiness. Maybe it was the tongue. But the stranger's fire began to flicker. His bright bands dimmed, browner and browner, which in chameleon means I take it back. Then he turned and swayed away down the branch, off toward an empty tree of his own.
The whole battle had been fought with light, and both walked away whole.
Loko let his colors soften back to green and settled onto his favorite branch as the sun went down. Around him, all through the forest, other chameleons were saying their evening things in stripes and glows.
Here is a secret to keep: a panther chameleon's everyday green already matches the leaves. The magic is for talking.
The strongest voice in the forest that day had spoken entirely in light.
Say what you mean, calmly, and hold your colors.
Even giants listen.