elepahnt attack gorilla
At dawn, the jungle breathed quietly as mist curled around ancient trees. A silverback gorilla led his family to a river bend, trusting the calm. Suddenly the ground trembled. An enormous elephant burst from the brush, ears flared, eyes wide with panic. Startled by a falling branch and the scent of rivals, the giant charged without warning.
The gorilla beat his chest, a thunderous warning meant to stop the rush. Leaves exploded under pounding feet. The elephant swung its tusks, tearing vines and snapping saplings, while the gorilla shoved his troop toward safety. Mothers gathered infants, rolling and climbing, hearts racing.
For a breathless moment, power met power. The gorilla stood firm, roaring, using voice and presence instead of teeth. The elephant skidded at the riverbank, confused by water and sound. Mud splashed. The charge slowed.
Then instinct shifted. The elephant turned, trumpeting in frustration, and retreated into the forest, crashing away. Silence returned, broken only by dripping leaves. The gorilla watched until danger faded. He grunted softly, reassurance passing through the group. No victor claimed the clearing, only survival. In the wild, attacks are often fear misread as fury, and courage is knowing when to stand, and when to let the storm pass. Life continues after danger fades.
