“They live,” replied the young stork, “but are sorely wounded, and are flying northward, slowly and carefully, to the City of the Sickle, the place of the hospital, where their wounds may be healed. I must return to them. Haply, we may all come back again.”
“How the young stork chatters!” said Ayesha sleepily.
But Tsamani said no word as he went down the narrow stairs, for he felt that he was alone in the world.
| [3] | This incident occurred when I was in Southern Morocco where some reliable observers told me that fights between the storks and ravens are of almost annual occurrence. |
THE WILD BOAR
He trotted along happily enough through the great open spaces of the Argan Forest,[[4]] parts well-nigh unknown to men. All around him the giant Argan trees defied the sun. Stray goats climbed their broad branches to eat the fruit, the tiny asphodel flowered in their shade, and the stock-doves cooed.
Little Tusker knew the forest better in darkness than by morning light, for the herd rested during the heat, and the grown up ones fed at night; but they often drank by day in that secluded place, and would seek the pools by the tiny river where trout flashed and otters fished and kingfishers shone in the bright sun. It was pleasant to go down to the pool in the middle of the hot night and listen to the nightingales in the woods around. By day the numbers of the herd stood in the way of complete enjoyment, for the strong ones got to the water first and the weakest had to wait.
“Why do we all go together like this?” asked little Tusker.
“For safety,” replied the mother, who had no tusks and was naturally of a timid, shrinking disposition. “There are hyænas and other wild things in the forest. We might be attacked if we went by ourselves. You will remain with the herd until you are four or five years old, and then you will do as your father has done, and will live by yourself, for your tusks will have grown until you can protect yourself against anything but the Man.”