“Wake up!” I opened my eyes ready for the morning only to be greeted by the night’s darkness and my mother standing over me. She nudged me harshly and I stood up. “What’s going on? I’m tired…I want to go back to sleep!”
“Quagga hunters! They are still pursuing the herd. Also, the elephants told Clest there is another group of hunters to the north.” She turned to look at the mare Clest, the leader of our herd, who was talking to an unfamiliar quagga who is not from our herd.
We had received warnings of hunters all through the evening and night. According to Clest, however, this was the most serious one yet. “We’re going to have to escape at a full gallop now if we even want a CHANCE at escaping,” she announced loud enough for the entire herd to hear. Everyone stood as still as a stone until Clest was finished speaking. “Run!”
On her instruction, the entire herd took off flying at the fastest pace possible. “Run like you’re never ran before!” my mother frantically told me. Although this situation was the gravest the herd had even encountered, days like this are a typical part of being a quagga living in the African savannah.
The quagga is disappearing. It is a clear fact that as more hunters appear on the savannah plains, the number of quagga herd decrease. Many quagga have been needlessly slaughtered for “sport”, the lucky ones shipped off in unknown, dismal prisons called “zoos”. A village close by my herd’s grazing lands is expanding. Many European hunters with swift horses and deadly weapons have moved in, posing a crucial threat to the herd. For this reason I am forced to move my herd south. My herd was one of the most northern quagga herds. Moving south was only a temporary solution, unfortunately. We could only travel so far south until we were surrounded by the ocean on all three sides, hunters on the fourth. But for now, it was the only course of action possible. It is my duty as herd leader to ensure the welfare and survival of the herd.