“Could be a calf,” he said.
Neither of us spoke much after that.
As we approached, I saw the herd before I saw the water. Enormous gray bodies stood shoulder to shoulder along the bank.
One female turned toward us.
Then another.
Ben slowed immediately.
Through a brief gap between their legs, I saw a movement low in the mud.
“Stop.”
He braked.
A little trunk rose, curled weakly, and disappeared behind an adult’s front leg.
For a moment, I couldn’t work out where the rest of the calf was.
Then I understood.
The bank had given way beneath him. What looked like shallow mud was deep enough to hold most of his body.
Later, we pieced together what had happened. The herd had come down to drink during the morning heat. The calf had splashed along the edge, rolling and kicking in the wet earth.
Somewhere beneath his feet, the softened bank collapsed.
