The Giver Chapter 13

He watched the landscape for glimpses of the green that he knew was embedded in the shrubbery; when it came flickering into his consciousness, he focused upon it, keeping it there, darkening it, holding it in his vision as long as possible until his head hurt and he let it fade away.

Very slowly it walked to the mutilated body and looked down.

Going closer, he watched them hack the tusks from a motionless elephant on the ground and haul them away, spattered with blood.

With all of his being he tried to give each of them a piece of the memory: not of the tortured cry of the elephant, but of the being of the elephant, of the towering, immense creature and the meticulous touch with which it had tended its friend at the end.

With its sinuous trunk it stroked the huge corpse; then it reached up, broke some leafy branches with a snap, and draped them over the mass of torn thick flesh.

Finally it subsided as the memories were assimilated.

There were tufts of sparse grass, a few bushes and rocks, and nearby he could see an area of thicker vegetation: broad, low trees outlined against the sky.

Finally it subsided as the memories were assimilated.

Jonas glanced around at the astonishing array of volumes.

Although he was exempted from the rules against rudeness, he was aware that this was a rude question.

With their hours together, his and The Giver's, consumed by conversation and by the transmission of memories, Jonas had not yet opened any of the books.

He stood at the foot of the bridge that spanned the river, the bridge that citizens were allowed to cross only on official business.

There would be a glimpse of green--the landscaped lawn around the Central Plaza; a bush on the riverbank.

Now he saw another elephant emerge from the place where it had stood hidden in the trees.