In the heart of the forest, there lay a clear pond—
a gathering place for life itself.
Every morning, from the greatest to the smallest, the forest folk would come.
They drank sky-colored water and played in a blue so vast and bright,
it felt like swimming in the heavens.
They saw themselves and their children mirrored in the pond.
And the joy of life rippled through them.
Soon the water would turn cloudy, but not from fishing.
A baby elephant would throw itself into the pond, rolling with glee.
Behind him came the young giraffe—trying hard but failing to roll.
Then came the little donkey, mastering the art of tumble-play.
Their mothers would arrive shortly after, splashing water to wash them clean.
The elephants, of course, did it best—
filling their trunks and pouring rain over the pond’s children.
As surely as the sun cannot always shine,
just so, the joy did not last.
Slowly, the creatures of the forest left the pond and stood waiting.
The mud and silt settled,
but the water no longer held the color of the sky.
A terrifying roar tore through the sky—
planting fear deep within their souls.
The lion arrived—
he saw their bowed heads and stepped into the water,
shaking his mane and drinking a mouthful.
He drank—not the water, but the torment of the forest, bitter as blood.
His gaze swept toward the pregnant mothers.
Which one would it be today?
It didn’t matter.
Whoever’s time to give birth drew closest—was chosen.
All eyes fell—ashamed and sorrowful—upon the mother cow.
She was in the final moments of carrying life within her—
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
but how cruel is a world
where the promise of new life
is answered with death?
The other creatures of the forest did not rejoice that it was not yet their turn.
They mourned for the cow—
for they knew that someday, their own time would come.
Yet, they had long since accepted this as life.
Two hyenas dragged the pregnant cow into the pond, before the lion’s throne.
The other creatures formed a wall around the cow’s mate—so he would not see, and would not die.
But he was already gone; his life held no more fire—only the fading breath of survival.
There was no choice left to him, no strength to fight.
The lion had made it clear: to resist meant death—not only for the mother, but for all the surviving young.
Why didn’t the lion devour the mother herself?
Perhaps because he preferred fresh prey—
or perhaps he knew: mothers are the makers of life.
The cow mother stood in the middle of the pond,
bearing the tremendous pain of birth.
Yet she did not cry out.
Everyone watched her,
and she watched the calf within her heart.
When birth comes, one cries out—
to ease the burden of that life-giving agony.
But she did not wish for that.
No one wished for it.
Yet arrival cannot be stopped.
The cow had resolved to die before giving birth.
She knew the hyenas would tear her open,
and offer the calf to the lion.
But that was better—
better than living to see it happen.
Until a sound broke through—
the bleating of her older calf, calling for his mother.
The cow shuddered.
What could she do for her other child?
Why is it that there are always only two choices—
bad and worse?
Or perhaps,
they had simply closed their eyes to a third path...
The cow mother gave birth, and the forest folk wept.
Two hyenas shrieked and chased the animals away,
so that the lion could eat his meal in peace.
He devoured the newborn in front of the unconscious mother.
The elephants came and carried the mother away.
One remained behind—
a silent witness.
The lion did not see him,
but he could feel the gaze.
The other creatures, too,
though pretending not to see,
felt the weight of that unseen presence.
The forest creatures scattered into the woods,
trying to turn survival into life.
Slowly, clouds gathered and the light faded—
a good time for forgetting.
Soon, eyes could no longer truly see one another,
and so, shame and grief, fear and despair,
gave way to eating, laughing, and sleeping.
The Unbounded.
Let’s grow this journey together.
