Ostrich was a pretty good looking fella, even if he did say so himself. His feather coat and wide beak were an ashen black. He had white-tipped wings, an exceptionally long white neck, and long legs to match. He enjoyed strutting his stuff across the vast yellow grasslands each day, his dark eyes and long eyelashes surveying the open land that was scattered with broad canopied acacia and baobab trees.

Occasionally, Zebra would trot across the savannah with her dazzle. Red and yellow beaked oxpeckers hitched a lift upon the dazzle’s stripey backs, picking happily. Today was such a day. Ostrich hated the oxpeckers. They made fun out of him and his friends for not being able to fly. What did those pesky little red-eyed birds know anyway? All they did was eat parasites. They weren’t bold and beautiful like him and his flock.

Ostrich was good friends with Zebra. On days when the sun blazed down, the air’s semi-arid convection like red hot irons of a toaster heating the animals, Zebra would canter to the docile river. Even though Ostrich didn’t need to drink, he’d accompany his friend – she the nose and ears, he the sight. He’d arch his long neck downwards towards the water, admiring his reflection in nature’s mirror. The warm liquid was often interrupted by ripples whilst Zebra and her friends refreshed. Ostrich liked how they distorted his visage. It was always a fun day, visiting the river.

At night, Ostrich would find a safe place to blend into his surroundings whilst he napped. He’d lay down to stretch and rest his long, weary neck. His body would gently sway, his beautiful black eyes slowly closing as the brilliant stars twinkled across the boundless savannah.