Then the calls became shorter.
That frightened me more than the noise.
I had seen exhausted animals grow quiet before. People sometimes mistake it for improvement because the struggle becomes easier to watch.
There was nothing reassuring about this silence.
The sun climbed. Sweat ran down my back beneath my shirt. The metal buckle on my bag grew hot against my wrist.
We backed farther away and waited again.
An adult tried bracing at the edge. Mud slumped beneath her foot, and she withdrew. Another reached across the calf’s back, searching for a grip she couldn’t find.
“They’re wearing themselves out,” I said.
Ben kept watching.
“So is he.”
As the afternoon dragged on, the younger elephants began drifting toward the trees. Some of the adults followed, then stopped and turned back.
The female nearest the calf stayed.
She touched his face with her trunk.
He lifted his own toward her, but it barely cleared the surface.
