It's easy to forget that death is as vital to the herd as life. The young emerge from this brutal baptism stronger and wiser. Battered but unbroken, they exude the will to live. They will continue to chase the rains and face down the crocs for the rest of their lives. Moving in masses, surviving as one. Every year, new generations are born into lives of perpetual motion.

 

Maiden flights fine-tuned by sunlit antennae, young giants resonating to the earth's cues, red battalions of moon-dancing mothers and skittering pink spirits, compelled by the courage of numbers and the guts of the one. Led most of all by the earth herself, who whispers to all, "move, move, move, and live".