The elephant was stalking the lion.
He put his big foot (as delicately as he could) onto the jungle floor in front of him and then eased the other three forward. He believed that this slow (albeit ungainly) process captured the stealth needed to progress toward his quarry.
The smaller animals of the tangled underbrush believed that the only thing worse than a rampaging elephant was a cautious elephant, and they scurried to safety in all directions.
The lion believed, because he had a full belly and was feeling content, that he may as well give the big fellow his money’s worth and continued on his way at a slow pace.
The cloud believed, as it eased itself across the sky, that a change was as good as a rest and followed closely.
Thus the elephant — now pursuer and pursued — plotted his course, while oblivious to what really was happening around him.
He tried to avoid the trees, the vines, and the bushes. He hoped that the extraneous noises he made were for his ears alone. But his huge ears magnified everything, and each grunt, each sigh, each snapped twig cascaded like thunder.
In spite of his patience and persistence, stealth was not really his forte. The smaller animals trembled (literally) at each heavy step, the lion wondered if he ever sounded so elephantine while on the chase, and the cloud veered abruptly to avoid a tree still reverberating from the elephant’s passage.
The elephant hunched over and kept hiding whatever amount of his bulk could be hidden behind every convenient tree. He parted the dangling vines with his trunk and peered intently at the retreating tail of the lion. It waved like a furtive flag in the distance, and he watched it disappear into the undergrowth before he even advanced from his concealment.
He felt it was not yet time to be thinking of his charge — let alone his pounce — for there were still too many obstacles in his way to allow a running start. He would probably have to wait until they reached the grasslands.
He realized that his size precluded much manoeuvrability. The smaller animals realized that keeping one step in front, beside, or behind the elephant was not necessarily enough. The lion realized that he was tiring of the game and might be feeling just a little hungry. The cloud realized that perhaps the prerogative of the Creator should be exercised.
“Ahem,” said the cloud.
“Thank God,” said the lion, who bounded away to follow the whiff of antelope on the air.
“SIGH,” sighed the smaller animals collectively.
“Snor — Ort!” trumpeted the elephant, who did not know where to look amidst all the noise around him, so he hurriedly looked everywhere. The tail of the lion was a blur in the distance, the ground foliage rustled with the dance of the smaller animals, and the cloud descended directly over his head.
“Snort,” repeated the elephant but this time very softly.
“You’re at it again,” said the cloud.
“I was this close.” The elephant held the tip of his trunk a banana’s length in front of his eyes.
“How close?”
“Well,” relented the elephant, “at least I was gaining on him.” He nodded his head vigorously. “Yes. I was just getting ready to pounce.”
“‘The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a child shall lead them.’” The cloud smiled as it moved away. “With all due respect, it doesn’t say anything about elephants.”