She stops at the edge of the water, watching dark shapes coil beneath the still surface. The soft murmur of a distant stream, the sighing leaves, the dim light, settle in, as peaceful and comforting as a cloud.

In an instant, the calm shatters, in a roar and a rush as the crocodile lunges.

Will as strong as an ancient trunk and hooves as sharp as a scream, as daring as a glance and as cold as the stars, sun-light and wind-quick, she strikes. One, two, one, two, hooves strike the crocodile’s skull.

And the calm reasserts itself, covering the corpse in the water and the blood on her hooves, leaving only a memory of the frenzy at the water’s edge.

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