Selefants at Dawn
As the sun rises on the Bay of Calderra, the rippling surface of the water breaks.
A long, probing, serpentine shape emerges with tentative curiosity. Questing back and forth, it turns itself toward the boat that lies silent on the waves. The occupants of the little craft hold their breath. They know they are trespassers. Will it attack? Below the water, they can see a long, powerful body, its purple hues flecked with glints of gold on the shoulder that give back the stray rays of long-slanting light that strike down through the depths to illuminate it.
But then, more of the creature emerges. A tough, massive, bone-plated head protects small, deep-set, interested eyes that meet the eyes of its observers without fear. And now, the serpent resolves itself into a long, sensitive snout; a trunk. Feathery ears shake themselves free of the water, casting diamond droplets into the morning air. The companions laugh at the sight, and, relieved, put out a tentative hand to stroke the place where the trunk joins the rest of the head.
In response, the selefant tosses its head back, revealing long, scarred tusks that have seen much service. For this is no juvenile. This is an old grandfather; a gold-back. Yet he is not hostile. He does not resent the offered touch. Rather, he rolls over in the rising tide, laying back and offering a cradle made from his four fore-flippers. With a grin, one of the boaters abandons his craft and leaps into the chilly water, landing safe in the selefant’s arms.
And then, with a trumpeting call, a flash of golden flecks, and a brief sight of back flippers, they are gone, diving below the waves. The rider - or passenger - is now carried down into a world of filtered light. The water around is clear. At least it is clear until it fades off into the impossibly large distance of the ocean beyond sight or knowledge.
Both know that monsters lurk beyond that placid bubble of sight. The old selefant bears the scars of many combats. His gold-flecked hide is a silent witness to the enemies that he has conquered and consumed. For selefants are the bane of those feared ship-eaters, the hullborers. Their battle for the shallows and reefs of the Broken Realm would be the stuff of legends, if either side could give it voice.
But there is no war today. Instead, in the near distance there swims a cow and her newborn calf. The little creature circles her mother, softly violet in the surface brightness. The bull takes his guest up for a closer look at his family. Long, streamlined bodies of mother and daughter float at their ease in the swell of the morning tide. The cow grazes contentedly on wafting strands of sea-grass.
The little calf swims up closer, curious, and yet cautious. Her small snout reaches out toward the newcomer. He can see the nubs of tusks already swelling on each side of the little mouth. Already half as large as the visitor, the calf is completely at home in this element. Amphibious, she will not need to breathe the once-tainted air of the Broken Realm until she is strong enough to bear it.
Thinking of the dangers above, the visitor to this undersea refuge smiles. Even now, these risks are much less threatening than they once were. The monsters have been driven back. The winds begin to blow sweet and clean. The storms are being tamed by tree and grass. The Broken Realm is healing.
The bull and his guest look up and return to the surface world. Cold air blows away the spray as they vault forth from the water, propelled by the selefant’s powerful hind-flippers. With a shout and a trumpeting blast, the two greet the new-born sun, now fully arisen above the horizon between the Pillars of Cor.
Separating, the two creatures return to their own worlds, one to his boat to sail back to his work at building up the village of Anchor’s Rest, one to re-assume his watchful guard over his family and herd. For the Broken Realm is healing, but it is not healed yet.
