The others crowded close.
For a few moments, we saw only pieces of him between them: an ear, his muddy forehead, the small trunk reaching upward.
Then the female shifted, and I saw him standing against her.
Exactly where he belonged.
Ben sat behind the wheel without starting the engine.
I wiped my face with the cleanest patch of sleeve I could find. It wasn’t especially clean.
Neither of us spoke.
Eventually, the herd began moving.
This time, the calf walked in the middle.
An adult shortened her stride beside him. When he paused, the bodies around him slowed too.
Just before they reached the trees, he stopped again and leaned against the female.
She rested her trunk across his back.
I had spent much of that afternoon afraid his last touch would be a stranger’s hand.
Instead, I watched his mother guide him into the shade.
