Roamer looked across the muddy surface of the watering hole and out over the dusty savannah. In the distance lay the dead remains of his friend Scarback. He shuddered as he saw lions tearing away huge chunks of elephant flesh. Even the hyenas were getting in on the feast now, instinctively knowing that the big cats were no longer hungry enough to drive them off. On the periphery, impatient jackals howled and darted about. Overhead, buzzards circled.

There was nothing Roamer could do now. For three days he had stood guard over Scarback, chasing away lions and shading his friend from the scorching African sun.

Like Scarback, Roamer was an old bachelor elephant who had been driven from the main herd by the younger bulls. Scarback was older than Roamer and had already been part of a bachelor foursome when, three years ago, Roamer had joined the group. In less than two years, the ravages of disease had culled their numbers down to two.

As survivors, Roamer and Scarback were healthy and strong. But that was a time when heavy rains had coaxed the usually arid wastelands into a lush and wonderful garden spot. And yet, Roamer noticed that even with the rich and varied food supply, Scarback would eat only the softest vegetation, spurning even the tender branches of the Fever tree. Roamer didn't know that Scarback was on his last set of teeth and that they were badly disintegrated. Scarback knew. And he would go to extraordinary lengths to conceal this from Roamer, pretending to enjoy the coarse food offerings that Roamer would bring to him.

The previous summer they traveled far and wide. On the distant edge of the savannah, where the Sward grasses and Baobab trees give way to the rocky foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, they had met a group of bachelor elephants. Roamer and Scarback were asked to join the group. But Scarback, fearing that his dependence on soft food would limit the wanderings of the group, declined.

Roamer never considered that his friendship with Scarback could come to an end. Nor did Roamer consider that the upcoming year could bring less rain and less food. The wise old Scarback considered this. And more.

When the next year's rains came, they came late and left early. By March, the Serengeti was a parched and fissured mosaic of death. The drought was forcing hundreds of disparate herds to gather around the few remaining watering holes. As the herds moved, the predators moved with them, claiming the sick and the starving. There was barely enough food for the tiny Thompson gazelle. Yet Roamer remained strong; his rock-hard molars rendering even the coarsest roots and bark into digestible foodstuff.

It would have been better for Scarback to have chosen a spot closer to the shade and the water. Why, for his final walk, he had chosen to head away from the watering hole was one of those mysteries that only a dying elephant knows the answer to.

Roamer turned his eyes away from the remains of his only friend and drank deeply from the murky water. He felt his strength returning. He would survive. But for what?

His sorrow turned to anger. He remembered as a calf when a rogue bachelor elephant returned to the herd to terrorize and destroy. He remembered pressing close to his mother as she pirouetted around, always keeping her body between the raging bull and her baby. Roamer now understood why.

Roamer pined for Scarback.

Highlighted by the setting sun, cloud banks could be seen gathering on the far horizon. Roamer could sense the primal stirrings of the impending rain!

With luck, it would be just a few short weeks before he ventured off to join the friendly group of bachelor elephants at the distant edge of the savannah.

Copyright © 2005 James Rasmusson