The red skyline blended with the first yellow rays, casting a golden-orange hue over the thatched village roofs.
His trunk swung through dew-wet hay and curled to his mouth. He chewed and savored the morning taste.
His handler emerged from the nearest house: blue shorts, bright yellow tank top, and a pointed stick on his shoulder. He walked with a light bounce in his step. Behind him trailed a wide-eyed couple, who pointed at the elephant and barely listened to the handler’s rehearsed spiel.
The couple approached. He bowed his head, raised one knee, then offered a step for them to climb onto his back. The handler circled the elephant, checked the couple’s seating, untied the elephant’s leg from the post, struck him behind the ear with the stick, and led them down the road with the rope.
The light red dirt road stretched beyond the horizon. On one side, a gentle river flowed; on the other, the village’s thatched roofs glowed in the morning sun. As the giant swayed with each step, the forest gradually replaced the houses.
The village disappeared behind them, and tall grasses lined the shoulder of the road. The sight of fresh grass made his stomach rumble. He resisted for a few steps until the herbal aroma overpowered his senses. He stepped to the right, wrapped a mouthful, and pulled it from the earth.
A shock tore through his body, ear to tail. The handler pointed up the road and jerked the rope around his ankle. The elephant exhaled a heavy sigh, then continued up the road.
The sun climbed, and lifted a curtain of blue sky beneath it. Rays pierced the forest canopy and glistened off the river. Heat rose from the ground and blanketed the elephant. The couple wiped their brows and fanned themselves.
The river caught the elephant’s eye. Hunger left his mind, and thirst overtook him. He crossed the handler, straight to the riverbank. His trunk plunged into the water, filled, then curled back to his mouth.
Another shock rippled through him. The elephant’s trunk lifted overhead and sprayed water over the couple. They laughed. He walked on, his tail stiff.
The canopy thickened, and darkness crept between the trees. The elephant’s legs wobbled from thirst. His ears flapped to cool himself down, but it was not enough. He dragged his trunk on the ground with his head bowed.
Sweat formed dark crescents on the handler’s shirt. Irritated by the animal’s slow pace, the handler thrust the stick behind the elephant’s ear.
A trumpet erupted from the forest. The elephant halted. His ears flicked and hit the handler’s stick. It flew from the handler’s grasp. They stared at it. Their eyes met and the man tugged the rope. The elephant froze; the trumpet echoing in his mind.
“What’s wrong?” the couple asked.
The handler waved the couple’s question off, “Lazy oaf,” he mumbled to himself. He let go of the rope and then turned around to walk to the stick.
The elephant lifted his leg and examined the rope. A glimpse of the first time he had the rope around his ankle flashed in his mind. It was heavier back then, and it blistered against his skin.
Sweat dripped from the handler’s head as he bent for the stick. The elephant eyed it and remembered the first time he felt its sting. He’d pulled hard against that rope and strained his leg. The young elephant had fallen. Blood trickled to the ground.
A magnetic pull from the forest, gripped the elephant’s attention, and he pivoted. The couple swayed and flailed. His eyes locked on the shadowed gap between the trees, and the world narrowed around him. He stepped toward the forest.
The handler dove for the rope but was dragged behind. He scrambled to his feet, struck the elephant’s side. Pain jolted the elephant and he galloped. The couple screamed and slid from his back into the tall grass.
The elephant pulled the rope from the handler’s grip. The man struck him, kicked at the dirt, then dropped to his knees, then waved him off as he caught his breath. The elephant charged towards the forest.
Energy surged through him. His ears flapped, tail raised high. He felt like a young elephant, the world wide open before him.
He reached the forest edge and stopped. Up close the shadows thickened. He looked back. The couple brushed off grass and straightened each other’s clothes. His handler stood still, arms splayed.
They looked so small — tiny and fragile beside the vast river. Once he was a giant figure, now he was just a man with a small stick, with a shadow larger than himself.
The elephant turned to face the forest once again. He inhaled deeply. He had followed his mother’s tail and his handler’s rope. Now this step was his alone. He picked up the end of his rope with his trunk and stepped into the green.
Freedom welcomed him with soft grass, but each step took him deeper; the trees pressed in. Twigs snapped. Branches raked. Bushes clawed. Hidden rocks pressed into the pads of his feet. Vines hung low and snagged around his knees. He pushed through, breaking what wouldn’t part.
The slope rose beneath him as he trudged through the thicket. The forest wove tighter, like closing gates. Mud, dust, leaves, webs, and splinters clung to his skin. Each stinging nick itched the thrill of freedom away.
A jolt shot through his chest. He stumbled forward, toppled over himself, slammed down by his own momentum. He clambered upright. The rope around his ankle pulled taut. He traced the line with his trunk through the brush. Snagged beneath a buried log. Trapped.
Dread rippled across his spine like cold water. He twisted, thrashed, spun; the rope held. He rocked, tugged, tugged again. The strain dragged in the memory of him tied to his post. His trunk wilted. A deep bellow, low and rumbling, surged from his chest and shook the canopy.
An answering trumpet rang through the trees. He jerked his head towards the sound, ears flared, breath heaving. He spun, trampling the brush; his trunk dragged leaves, and jabbed the ground. Seizing a thick vine he ripped it from a tree, and flung it into the undergrowth, where it vanished.
He stared at the spot where the vine had disappeared. His trunk dropped, limp and heavy. The rope around his ankle pulled taut with every shift of weight, every turn. He snapped a branch and hurled it. Pawed at the dirt. Still taut. Tension coiled deep in his chest, bound to memory. He was a calf again, pulling and pulling, so small then. His ears flared. He bent low, locked his legs, slid his trunk under the log—and heaved. Loud cracks as vines and roots popped. Again. Louder. The wood cracked and splintered. He drove upward. It lifted, wrapped around his trunk, held up high, he whipped his massive head, and it spiraled before crashing into the underbrush behind him.
The rope fell slack.
He raised his trunk to the sky and let out a trumpet that boomed through the forest.
He plowed forward with vigor, barreling through the forest, unfazed by the nicks and scrapes of brush. He shoved through, split the thicket, and the forest gave up a clearing.
Sunlight spilled through a break in the canopy. Grass tufted the red clay, pink and white flowers dappled the turf. A pool shimmered in the clearing’s heart, fed by a waterfall trickling down a low stone ledge.
He galloped to the water, drank deep, and sprayed his back. Cool relief coursed through him. But when he looked up, the clearing was still. No sign of the trumpeter. No movement. A prickling crept down his neck. His coarse hairs stood, as if they meant to flee his skin. He raised his eyes to the stone ledge where the stream fell. Pins and needles tingled through his body. Yellow eyes stared back.
Its orange coat and black stripes should have made it easy to spot. But it didn’t. It lay on the rock, still, watching. Then it rose, slow and loose, confident in the elephant’s shadow. Its gaze fixed. It leapt twice from the rock and crept along the water’s edge. Ears folded back, its face like a serpent. Shoulders rolled with each step.
This was not like the presence of a man. This was nature, raw and certain, claiming its prize. He trembled. Nothing had ever looked at him like this. Its eyes were fixed, unblinking, pupils small as pinpricks. Leering. Its tail flicked. He flinched and stepped back, with his legs widening into a sturdy stance.
The tiger mirrored him. They locked eyes. It lowered its head and shoulders. He rose tall, flared his ears, and shook his hulking head. It snarled, bared its fangs in a roar, then darted to the side, lunging for his flank.
He spun in time to block the tiger, but its claws raked his hind leg. Blood streaked down over pale flesh. He hadn’t seen the claws until they struck. He backed into the pool, sinking until only his head and back broke the surface.
He scoured the clearing as it stood at the water’s edge. It leaned over and sniffed the surface, then stepped into the pool. The tiger paddled with rhythm, swimming—he thrashed and churned the water.
The tiger clawed into his side and climbed up before he could pivot. He kicked and splashed, legs battering water, but it clung tight, biting at his neck. He pushed toward the bank and hauled himself from the pool. Mud splattered beneath his feet as he plowed forward, bucking and shaking. The tiger’s claws sank deep.
He slammed into a tree. It held tight. He charged again, hit harder. The tiger lost footing in one paw but clawed back on. He crashed into a third. Wood split. The tiger toppled over.
The tiger landed on its feet, sprang forward, and leapt. He raised his head and caught it midair in his trunk. It squirmed, claws slashing, teeth sinking deep.
Clenched tight, he drove the tiger into the ground. Then again, harder. Now the tiger writhed in pain. He dropped his head low, then hurled it upward.
The tiger flew through the air and crashed hard. It twitched, then sprang up with startling vitality. He muscled into an offensive stance: head low, ears flared, legs wide, anchored. He snorted, swung his trunk, and huffed. The tiger whirled and dashed for the trees, vanishing into the dark.
He exhaled a heavy sigh. Warm blood cooled against his skin. His wounds itched as much as they stung. He drank, lay down beside the pool, and slept.
His eyes opened heavy. He had never felt this cold. The moon hung over the clearing, its light shimmering in the waterfall. The stream slowed, thickened, froze. Wind swept in, flurries swirling, veiling the forest in white.
He blinked slowly, breath steaming the air. His ears twitched. He tried to stand, but his legs were numb. Cold crept through his skin and settled in his bones. Wind whistled through the trees. Then, behind the pool, a crunch of snow.
Flurries surrounded him. He squinted. A faint silhouette shifted beyond the pool. The crunch amplified with each step until it shook the ground. The shape grew taller, broader, rivaling the trees.
His eyes strained until they watered. The tusks appeared first, long and curved. Then a trunk, hung low, brushing the snow. Each step cracked the frozen earth, legs like tree trunks rising and falling with slow thuds. His eyes climbed the figure. A memory stirred. He was beneath his mother’s belly, staring up at her forgotten face.
It halted and studied him. Its gaze moved slow, sweeping over his body. He shifted his weight. Muscles tensed. But its eyes held no threat. His ears stilled. Breath slowed. The cold in his bones settled. Something deep in him stirred, like the echo of a name he had once known. His chest swelled. He kept his eyes on it, and a feeling washed through him, like standing before a great king whose kingdom had long since fallen.
The woolly titan nodded. It lingered a moment, then turned. Each step sent tremors through the ground. The shape shrank into shadow. He watched it go, something ancient stirring within. When it was gone, the forest exhaled and his heavy eyes closed.
He woke to a thundering crash. The trees were dense, tangled, unbroken. The clearing was gone. No pool. No ledge. He sat up, blinking at the overgrowth.
Branches cracked. The trees parted. A massive bull elephant stormed through. Its eyes were stern. Its face fixed. It didn’t look at him. It crashed through the brush, toppling trees with its weight, lifting trunks and tossing them aside. A clearing began to form.
He watched. The bull stomped the ground flat. Then it dropped its tusks into the earth, heaved up chunks of soil, and flung them aside. Dust and mud sprayed over its back, painting itself red.
Day slipped into night. At last, the ground erupted. Water gushed from the center and filled the crater. The bull stepped back, flared its ears wide, and vanished in a cloud of dust. He drifted back into sleep.
He awoke again, this time on his own. The sky was a dark violet with a highlighted horizon. The moon lingered as the sun’s first rays touched the edges of view. Morning birds chirped over the last of the night’s insects. His limbs ached. Thirst pulled him upright. He stepped to the pool, dipped his trunk, and drank. The corners of his mouth stung with each gulp. He studied his reflection. Two pale nubs pressed through his skin.
He dipped his trunk into the pool again. A glint from the waterfall caught his eye. The trickle thickened, water spilled faster. The sparkle swelled into a burst of light.
He staggered backward. Out of the glow stepped a small elephant. Red mud patterns curled along its trunk and sides. Its skin shimmered blue. It walked on the light and stopped at the center of the pool and a golden eye opened in the middle of its brow.
He looked into its eye and saw himself. He was back in the village, laying near his handler. Each breath was shallow. His chest rose once more, then stilled.
The small elephant blinked its central eye.
He lay by the pool, wounded. From the trees, the tiger crept forward, tore into his body, and gorged. He watched, unable to move.
The small elephant blinked its eye again.
He saw himself with massive tusks, once more at death’s domain. But the air felt lighter. Around his body stood a circle of elephants, large and small. Each stepped forward, gently covering him with dirt.
He blinked.
He was back by the falls—visions lingered behind his eyes.
He rose, slow but steady. His body ached, but he stood tall. He bowed his head, scooped a bit of dirt with his trunk, and let it fall gently into the pool.
A trumpet squealed from the forest. He stood ready.
The brush parted. A calf stepped out, trunk and tail curled high. Behind it came its mother, slow with heat.
She paused at the sight of him. He lowered his trunk, patted the water, and splashed it gently their way. Then he stepped aside.
The calf trotted to the pool. The mother waited, then followed.
He felt the enamel caps at the corners of his mouth, scanned the trees, then waded in after them.
Table of Contents [Start Here]
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This was awesome. Surprisingly not the first Elephant PoV story I've read, but definitely the best, and by a significantly long way too. Really enjoyed this.
Danny! This one almost made me cry! I was rooting for the elephant.
I felt sad at the beginning, excited at the middle, lost hope with the vision of death and was made cheerful again by the ending. Awesome!