Walking slowly through the bush, the elephant dragged its feet. Today he felt no joy.

The village lay behind him. Here were fields he could trample in revenge. Here were corn cobs he could eat, juicy and succulent. Here were the years growth of food supplies, enough to feed a family for a year. And he could destroy it all. If he chose to.

Today, he chooses not to.

Yesterday was different. Yesterday, he was fierce and proud. Head of the herd, head of the bush, head of the tribe; ah yes, he was the head of it all.

Then came the challenger.

Younger and slightly smaller than him - yes, that was true. But with a flexible agility that he, in his forty years of hard living, had lost. And the challenger had a cunning. Oh, such a great cunning. He was sly. He could deceive. He had tricks up his trunk.

In the battle, where tusks slashed, trunks slapped, feet stamped and ears tharashed


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RuthLivingstone (joined over 13 years ago)
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Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0


nature realism


sad african defeated


The elephant dragged its feet.
Prompt suggested by Galen


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