An Elephant's Tale Pt II
The Tangle Part 2 of 3
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An Elephant’s Tale is a 3-episode mini-series. This is Part II: The Tangle. If you missed Part I, scroll down for the link.
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. 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.
To be continued…
Read or listen to part 1 of An Elephant’s Tale here!
