Near the watering hole, the herd danced across red dust. Thump-thump-thump! Their feet made the earth drum. Chinna watched, then stepped forward to try.
He lifted one foot and stomped. Whump! His legs tangled, and he toppled into a dusty puff. A little bird fluttered down onto his head. Chinna shook, shook, shook, and tried again.
Alone beneath the marula tree, Chinna copied the elders' smooth glide. His feet crossed, crossed again, and stopped. He stomped once more. Plop-plop-plop! Ripe fruit bounced around him.
Chinna listened. Plop. Plop. Plop. He giggled, swayed his hips, and tapped his trunk against his knees. The strange beat sounded better than any practiced step.
The herd gathered close, watching his wobbly rhythm. Then the younger calf copied him, tripped over one foot, and landed in leaves. Squeal! Chinna laughed, and the calf wriggled happily.
That night, the dance circle opened. Chinna closed his eyes and heard the fruit-bounce rhythm. Stomp, sway, twist! His foot caught a root, and he rolled forward into a perfect loop.
He landed with his trunk high. Prrrroooom! The herd erupted, stamping his new beat into the ground. Behind him, the younger calf answered with a wonderfully silly wiggle.
Chinna opened his eyes. Stomp! The earth thrummed beneath the herd. Across the watering hole, moonlight shimmered like silver coins while every foot joined the beat.