Then seeing Bette’s worried and questioning look, he added, “They were spooked bad. Ran all the way to the ravine before we could get them under control. Took us hours to calm them.”

He paused, glancing toward where the baby rhino stood apart from the others, his small frame still shaking, ears flicking anxiously. “But the little one… he didn’t run. Stayed rooted, like he was waiting for someone. He let one of the junior carers guide him back, just pressed in close and followed like he’d known them forever.”

“They made it though?”

He nodded. “All of them. A little bruised. Shaken. But alive.”

Bette nodded, the lump in her throat thickening. She opened her arms as Mosi stepped closer, his trunk reaching for her as if to confirm she was real.

He touched her chest, then her arms, the motion slow and deliberate. His trunk curled against her face, and then wrapped briefly around her shoulders, a gesture she’d only ever seen him use once before when they’d buried another orphan near the edge of the conservancy.

Bette broke then, wrapping her arm around the head of the young elephant, her hands gripping the thick folds of his skin. The elephant stood still, rumbling low and deep in his chest, like a lullaby sung in mourning.

One by one, the others joined him. The littlest calf nudged her hip with its trunk and then stepped back, confused and uncertain. Another, the shy female named Tembo, curled against Jonas. Their collective grief was a quiet thing, felt, not heard. They could smell the death. They could taste the ash. They understood.

“They know.” Jonas said simply

Bette wiped her eyes on her sleeve and straightened up.

“I was so afraid they’d never come back.”

“They did,” he said. “Because of you. Because this is still home.”

Around them, the villagers paused in their work. A few smiled at the sight of the elephants.

And just as Bette and Jonas stood quietly among the elephants, breathing in their return like medicine, a low ripple of motion stirred near the far edge of the compound.

One of Wilson’s warriors broke from the line of men at the compound’s edge, emerging at a full sprint. Beaded jewellery adorned his chest and shoulders, bright reds, deep blues, and strands of white a stark contrast against his sun-darkened skin. His beaded chest-plate bounced rhythmically as he ran, the long loops of metal in his stretched earlobes swayed, catching the growing light. Though he was running hard, his face remained calm composed, but insistent.