Маугли
Toomai of the Elephants
Butthistimehewasnotalone,andhehadnottomakehispath.Thatwasmadealready,sixfeetwide,infrontofhim,wherethebentjungle-grasswastryingtorecoveritselfandstandup.Manyelephantsmusthavegonethatwayonlyafewminutesbefore.LittleToomailookedback,andbehindhimagreatwildtuskerwithhislittlepig’seyesglowinglikehotcoalswasjustliftinghimselfoutofthemistyriver.Thenthetreesclosedupagain,andtheywentonandup,withtrumpetingsandcrashings,andthesoundofbreakingbranchesoneverysideofthem.
AtlastKalaNagstoodstillbetweentwotree-trunksattheverytopofthehill.Theywerepartofacircleoftreesthatgrewroundanirregularspaceofsomethreeorfouracres,andinallthatspace,asLittleToomaicouldsee,thegroundhadbeentrampleddownashardasabrickfloor.Sometreesgrewinthecenteroftheclearing,buttheirbarkwasrubbedaway,andthewhitewoodbeneathshowedallshinyandpolishedinthepatchesofmoonlight.Therewerecreepershangingfromtheupperbranches,andthebellsoftheflowersofthecreepers,greatwaxywhitethingslikeconvolvuluses,hungdownfastasleep.Butwithinthelimitsoftheclearingtherewasnotasinglebladeofgreen—nothingbutthetrampledearth.
Themoonlightshoweditallirongray,exceptwheresomeelephantsstooduponit,andtheirshadowswereinkyblack.
