The Fable of the Elephant

01/22/10 • -1 min

Barry J. Northern

The Fable of the Elephant

by Barry J. Northern

A young elephant trailed behind the herd, trying not to be noticed. She wanted to play with the young ones, as she always had done, but Mother had told her that this year she was old enough to help with mothering duties.

The first of the new calves had been born the previous night. It had been a wonderful time, all the women of the herd celebrated, but Kijana now feared she would soon be set to some task or other.

The fear of impending duty grew within her until she could no longer bear it.

"Mother!" she called out. "I'm just off to the water-hole. I won't be long."

Mother turned around, her trunk swaying, ears flapping. "All right, dear."

Kijana had expected an argument. It seemed there were some advantages to being a little older, she thought, and stomped off to the water-hole alone. She was still young enough to feel nervous about leaving the herd behind, but felt emboldened when a pair of impala skittered away from her shadow.

Now it was Kijana's plan to escape the herd to avoid mothering duties, so she had decided to take the longest route to the furthest water-hole. She would make some excuse about needing a wash, for the water at the local hole was hardly deep enough for that. She chuckled at her own cleverness.

At the water-hole, however, she found she really was in need of a bath, for the it was further away than she had realised, and the day was hot.

After she had spent a long time washing, which was not one of her favourite duties, the sun had already begun to set, and she could barely see her herd's distant dust-cloud. She knew it was time to return, though she would gladly have rested longer.

On the way back she saw a she-lion stalking a herd of zebra. The herd was large, and Kijana feared that the she-lion might decide that a young, lone elephant was easier prey, so Kijana gave the lion, and the herd, a wide berth.

The journey back took over half as long again as the journey out, so that when she eventually returned to the herd she was quite out of breath and ready to sleep.

The Fable of the Elephant

by Barry J. Northern

Previous Episode

The Fable of the Swallow

by Barry J. Northern

A large roost of swallows settled about a tree, whose thinning branches fractured the sunset. One swallow among them stood on a high branch before her brood and proclaimed the end of Summer.

"My children. It is time for us to journey towards the Sun, to our wintering grounds."

The children became excited, especially one young lad from the first brood who had been dreaming of the wintering grounds ever since an old swallow told him of the burnt fields, teaming with fat flies. More than the promise of a great feast under a strong sun, however, Firstborn desired to make nest and find a wife.

He saw a younger brother on a lower branch, and hopped down to say farewell.

"I'm going now, brother, for I cannot wait. Will you fly with me?"

Secondborn laughed. "No-one may fly as fast as you, brother. But what is the hurry? Will you not roost here tonight and wait for the flock to leave?"

"No, I want to be there as soon as possible. I'll make the finest nest you ever saw!" And with a flicker of feathers Firstborn was gone.

Secondborn rose with the flock the next morning. He enjoyed the leisurely pace and the nightly roosts. Though he caught his food on the wing and kissed his wavering reflection as he passed over lakes to slake his thirst, he still took the time to look about him at the changing landscape. He had never imagined the world so large, nor so varied. The trees and mountains, sprawling man-nests and glittering seas, all of it swelled his heart through his glistening eyes.

Another young bird took to flying with Secondborn, for she too admired the lands over which they travelled. They began to sit together when roosting more and more, and the old ones smiled and sang.

Meanwhile, Firstborn flew with relentless...

Next Episode

The Fable of the Pigeon

by Barry J. Northern

A young pigeon, not long out of the nest, squabbled among his fellows around the legs of one of the wingless giants who sat upon the strange wooden bush at this time every day.

His father stayed close to him. “Look Fletch, this here giant is dropping bits of giant food already, good as grain that stuff. Oh, he'll fling us his scraps at the end, but you wanna watch out for anything you can get.” His father laughed at the older pigeons at the front of the crowd, fighting for scraps. “Look at em go. That's the way!”

“But, Dad?”

“Yes, my son?”

“Can't I just have grain mash? You've still got crop milk. I like it with a bit of crop milk.”

“Look son, I told you already, you're off the milk now. It'll dry up soon anyhow.”

“What about Mum?”

“She's got your brother to worry about. Look, you're not a squab any more.” His beady red eye darted ahead of a sharp-turned neck. “Look out! He's dropping scraps! Go on, get in there my son.”

Fletch, wanting to impress his father, pushed his way in. Everyone said Fletch was big for his age, and he was pleased that he had weight enough to force through the crowd of adults and defend his own patch. There were grains among the fluffy giant-food. He picked at them, they were delicious but few. He tried one of the giant's fluffy grains. “Ergh!” He spat it out. In his moment of disgust he lost his place and was forced to the back of the crowd.

“What happened, boy?”

“Those fluffy grains are horrible, Dad. There were hardly any proper grains, you know, like the ones you and Mum give me.”

“Son, if you live long enough to have squabs of your own, you'll wanna rear em on the best pickings. But you gotta learn to take what you can get now, lad. You're on your o...