Dawn is breaking. It's cold. I was restless during the night and drifted fitfully between sleeping and waking. Another life was in my mind as I slept. There was a tremendous thundering of hooves and a sense of exhilaration as my herd joined many others in a great charge across a dry plain. Clouds of choking dust engulfed us, but we surged on, pursuing the rumbling black clouds and the promise of green plenty. Our progress was hindered briefly by a broad expanse of water. But the heaving mass of eager travellers jostled us forward from behind, until, first one then several jumped into the rushing foam. This was our signal - by common consent, we all abandoned caution and flung ourselves from the high banks. As if from nowhere, immense gaping mouths, filled with rows of jagged teeth, emerged from beneath the surface. Many of my kind were dragged under by these monsters. Countless young were washed away in the strong flow. But the size of our vast herd seemed undiminished by our losses and we continued our journey.

The temperature was too low. It brought me back to this place. And there were those noises. There are predators close by. I hear them every night but have never seen one. We should run. We should all run. I feel it. The agitation builds up day by day, smelling and hearing the predators; season by season, feeling the urge to migrate. There are barriers surrounding us. If the predators find us, they will kill us. We cannot get away.

My beautiful females will soon be ready to mate. There is the smallest hint of that divine scent. It can hardly be detected yet but I know my favourite and most enchanting lady will soon be receptive. I feel I must establish a territory and protect them - and be prepared to clash horns with my rivals. There are no other mature males here though and the predators are hidden from me.

The grass is sparse and trampled in this cold, wet area from which we cannot migrate. But food is plentiful because the apes who watch us and chivvy us about, replenish it in dense bundles every day.

I was born in this place but it does not feel right. There should be members of my kind as far as the eye can see in all directions. There are so few of us here that we are vulnerable and ill at ease. We are watchful. The wind makes us nervous. We see the foliage moving and want to run.

Our energy is pent up from the moment of birth. The first instinct, on leaving the warmth of our mothers' wombs, is to get up and run. Running makes us strong. It keeps us strong. When we are no longer strong, we will die. But our natural urges are curtailed in this place. We cannot run very far or keep ourselves strong - and somehow, we do not die. We are penned in this small area where we cannot escape if a predator comes; getting weak and agitated, but not dying. Something is wrong. I feel it.

The morning is filled with a chorus of animals as the nocturnal prowlers go to rest and the rest of us become active. The birds and monkeys are competing in the volume and frequency of their cries. The tension of the night has broken and soon we will all settle down to graze as food is delivered to us.

After ruminating for a while, I will gallop around this tiny territory and test the boundaries, as I do every day. If there is any opening, with my wives and maidens I will leave this place and seek the wide savannahs and wooded plains. We grow restless. We must join the other herds. The feeling is strong.

Two Gnus
Drawing by LLWaz