The Wind At His Back

He liked walking among the subtle shades, the striking nuances of colours, the seemingly countless hues and the distant sounds of the jungle, with its dangers, known and unknown. This was part of his life, his DNA had been imprinted with the love, the unquestioning acceptance of the wild. And, for all of his short life the wind had always been at his back. The morning sun in his eyes, he made swift progress, it was hard going to climb this hill, Elephant Mountain they called it and it soon lived up to its name. A mother and calf were feeding, their backs turned, contented giants. He venture closer, being downwind and some 70 meters away, when she turned, rigidity gripped her body, ears spread wide, eyes glowering, she started trumpeting and charged, at maximum speed. Brave by tradition he called her bluff, wildly waving his arms, facing her in crazy-eyed determination. She was not to be persuaded and, as she caught up with him she used her trunk to lift, then toss him, helpless bundle, into the tall grass where he lay still. Her tusks raised, she stepped forward and stabbed them down, twice. His eyes closed, at first from the piercing pain and, minutes later from death. It was his life and he would, gladly, live it all again.