Riding Colourful Elephants

Zehra rode the red elephant across the purple sand, across the ancestral land, before it was too late. The elephant sang its song as they went, a ballad to mothers lost and to daughters buried. She stroked the elephant as they passed the gorge, the place too sad to stop. She checked her bag, making sure the staff was still there. Its power could be used to bring water back to their citadel, to make crops grow again, stop sickness and to make the famines
cease. The sun set behind her, as she approached, and she hoped it would work.