The Circle Closes In
The bushes rustled. Then they emerged—eight hyenas, lean and hungry, eyes glowing yellow, jaws gleaming with anticipation. They fanned out, circling him with the ruthless precision of predators who knew an easy kill when they saw one.
The baby elephant trumpeted as loudly as he could, ears spread wide, trying to appear bigger. But the hyenas only crept closer, laughing their chilling, high-pitched calls. One lunged forward, claws raking his flank. He squealed in pain, a piercing cry that carried far across the plain.
His mother’s head snapped up. The matriarch roared her trumpet and the herd thundered in alarm, but they were too far. The distance was cruel. They would never reach him in time.
