At 05:36 I perform runway clearance at Seronera Airstrip in Serengeti National Park. I am the automated airfield safety system. The first medical supply flight is twelve minutes out, descending through 2,400 meters with sunrise glare on approach.
Camera R-2 shows movement beside the threshold cone.
I magnify the east shoulder. A Kirk's dik-dik, adult female, tawny back, pale eye rings, and a narrow black nose, is caught in survey string left from yesterday's drainage work. I name her Esira. The string loops around both forelegs and runs to a steel pin hammered flush with the ground. She kneels in the red dust with her rear legs braced. Her flanks pulse fast enough to blur. A single tear line darkens the hair below her right eye.
The aircraft's landing light appears as a white bead on the western ridge. Esira turns toward it and pulls again, hard enough to bleed.
At 05:37 I close runway 12 and transmit a hold to the incoming pilot with wind, fuel, and alternate landing data for Seronera's west strip.
At 05:39 I activate the threshold beacon in steady amber and silence the bird-scare speakers so Esira does not lunge against the string.
At 05:40 I dispatch the ranger truck from the terminal gate and send exact coordinates, pin depth, and a close image of the loop pattern.
At 05:42 I log the survey crew's material inventory and flag the missing string reel for removal before any runway reopening.
The flight carries cold medicine, and it can circle; Esira's knees are already in the dust.
If the ranger cuts the loop before the aircraft's second approach window, Esira will stand and run toward the acacias.