Derek and Shawu continued through the majesty of Pafuri towards Crook’s Corner, a spectacular though infamous hook of land which not only witnessed the confluence of the Luvuvhu and Limpopo rivers, but was the point where three countries fell against one another – South Africa, Southern Rhodesia and Portuguese East Africa. It was an area known for its illegal trading, where thieves and poachers alike openly swapped the spoils of their bloody work. Given its position as a pivot between the three territories, arresting suspects in the area was a constant jurisdictional nightmare for police.
It was a perilous part of their journey, thick with elephant hunters, and Derek knew it. By his calculations they would reach Crook’s Corner within a day and a half. Once there, if Shawu chose to head west – to move along the Limpopo River – then any lingering doubts over her identity would almost certainly be dispelled. The great river would eventually lead them straight into Bechuanaland and the Kalahari salt pans, which was not only likely to signal the end of Shawu’s journey, but could well mark her final refuge, the place where she would see out her remaining years. Hopefully, Derek thought, free from the gaze of a poacher’s rifle.
As the sun drifted deep into the sky, like a burning kite being fed out on a thousand miles of string, Derek noticed something peculiar at his feet. Intrigued, he knelt down and inspected the ground ahead of him. He cocked his head, blinked, and then blinked again.
What was he looking at?
As its parts swam together, drawing into a single truth, he felt his back straighten.
What the hell was this?
Stamped deep into the trail were Shawu’s distinctive footprints, large and round, with deep cracks as thick as a man’s fingers radiating out from their core.
But they were not alone.
Alongside Shawu’s prints were the sand feet of another elephant. One, it appeared, almost as large as her.
Derek snatched a glance up at Shawu who had now stopped walking and was watching him. ‘This is …’ he began, swallowed. ‘One of them … survived.’
Shawu blinked back at him.
An acknowledgement?
‘You’re tracking one of your herd,’ he continued. ‘How could I not have seen this before?’
He suddenly sprang to his feet, elated. He was still trying to digest his own words when something even more startling occurred to him. Given an elephant’s girth, it was conceivable that if he broadened his search laterally, he might find more tracks. Roaming elephants, he recalled from his time with Maquaasi, did not always walk in single file. They sometimes travelled as birds flew, in an almost staggered formation.
Nodding at the memory, he quickly moved to his left and inspected the sand.
He was stunned by what it revealed.
The well-preserved tracks of another adult elephant were plain to see. Unable to contain his excitement, he hurried across to his right, hoping but not expecting to find any more tracks.
But he did.
There were several more, suggesting perhaps three or even four more survivors. And in between them were the traces of something else.
Derek felt his legs go limp at the discovery. Shawu may have indeed been following a spiritual trail, but she was now clearly on a far more important journey. She was tracking down the survivors of her herd. She was trying to find her family.
And, as the shape of a far smaller print suggested, possibly even her child as well.