Kumba

This paragraph is part of a possible novel I may write somewhere down the road, so needless to say, concepts, characters, content, etc. are all (c) Lauren Weeks. This bit is brief enough that I doubt anyone could do much with it if they wanted, but still.

Prolouge
The crowd was cheering on the day that I died.

Chapter 1: Birth
__ My first memory was the sound of the wind rushing through the dry savanna grasses. It was so vast a noise that I thought a thousand hungry predators were rushing towards me with sharpened claws and eager fangs. I remember running behind my mother’s great gray legs and burying my head in the coarse dryness of her flesh, squealing at the top of my lungs all the while. I made such a ruckus that even the herd matriarch was alarmed; her massive feet made the ground quake as she approached to investigate. Caressing my body with her rubbery trunk, she made soft, comforting sounds until I relaxed against my mother’s body, puling her teat closer with my trunk to suckle. I fell to sleep beneath the comforting fortress of her body, so powerful but so loving all at once, the way Gods are said to be. This memory of closeness of my herd, the sounds and smells of the other elephants, has brought me comfort that endured through many of my darkest hours.

Haha, yeah, that's all I'm sharing for now.