I walked in circles around the fallen old warrior for several minutes, studying the scars and characteristics that told the 14- year story of a rugged life lived in the furtherest shag of Mozambique’s northern Zambezi Delta. From the prominent snare marks encircling his neck and right hindfoot, to the smallest tick bites, each blemish in the bull’s weathered skin offered a glimpse into what he had endured since the day he was born, long ago when I was just eleven years old. As much as I wanted to know every episode of his feral life, imagination and speculation would be as close as I could get. The now-forgotten details of the battle that had once been so forceful as to snap his left horn in half will forever remain a mystery.