When a great soul passes from this world, hidden gifts of spirit are revealed. The beloved, his heart open to the other, receives these on the deepest level. They are the true inheritance. (Adapted from Rav Dessler, Michtav MiEliahu, on the relationship between Elisha and Elijah)

The elephants were ready to move on after watering at the pools. The rainy season had come late, and all that remained to drink was sour to the taste. They would usually shy away from water like this but now they had no choice.

"Don't worry," said Gray-Mountain, the strongest bull, "Soon the heavy rains will come and we will have plenty of fresh water. In the meantime, stay in shade as much as possible and eat the plants that help the stomach."

The herd was heartened by their leader's words, but one female was too sick to hear what was said. She lay on the ground, her calf nearby.

Runs-Like-the-Wind, the leader's helper, told Gray-Mountain that one of the females was ill. Considering the size of the herd, thirty-two bulls and fifty cows, it was not surprising that one of their number had succumbed to the heat. What concerned him was the possibility that many could now drink bad water and take sick.

"Who is it?" he inquired.

"Lion-Chaser," said the messenger.

"But she is among the strongest."

"She was the strongest, Gray-Mountain. But she has grown old, and this could be her last calving season."

"How is the calf?"

"He is like all calves when their mother is sick. He stays by his mother even when she crouches in the sun. If nothing is done, he will weaken beyond help even before his mother."

Gray-Mountain's ears flapped with concern. His head dropped and he pawed the dust. "We must move from this place quickly," he decided. "Find out if anyone else drank from the same pool as Lion-Chaser and have them come to mine. Perhaps this water will help them."

Runs-Like-the-Wind knew the answer, but asked anyway: "And what about Lion-Chaser and her calf?"

"If she is strong enough to move, they come. If not, we move her to shade with her young one and hope either for the miracle of healing or the miracle of rain. I think fresh water could save her, but the skies are shut up like a bamboo thicket. Everyone should pray for the well-being of the herd, their family and themselves, and then we must go from here."

Cloud, the wisest of the elephants, overheard the whole conversation. He knew that Gray-Mountain was right, but he had already made up his mind that he would not give up on Lion-Chaser and her calf. Lion-Chaser was his favorite cousin, and their grandfather, the greatest healer of his generation, had given the knowledge of healing to Cloud. Even though it would mean endangering his own life he must stay behind.

Runs-Like-the-Wind passed through the herd, telling them everything that Gray-Mountain had said. First he gathered the clan leaders, who in turn told their lead cows, and in this way the message was spread. Aware now that Lion-Chaser was sick, a steady steam of elephants passed by where she lay.

She was sleeping and unaware, and the elephants whispered caring words to her and her calf, or stood over them and offered prayers. Then the herd began to move. The thunder of their movements stirred Lion-Chaser for an instant. She lifted her head as if to rise to her legs, but she had no strength left and her head sank back down. She watched the herd leave from her one eye that was not in the dust.

The herd was gone.

The quiet of the plain was broken only by buzzing insects. It was then that Lion-Chaser heard something rustle nearby. At first she thought it must be a jackal come to finish her off, but instead she saw her dear Cloud, standing at her side.

"I am here Lion-Chaser, O proud Lion-Chaser."

"Cloud," she said, "I have no strength left, but is there no hope for my calf?"

Cloud told her what she already knew, that elephant calves will not leave their mothers even in death. But there was still a glimmer of hope.

"Our grandfather taught me that calves must stay with their mother till the end. That is the law of the heart that was implanted in the first elephant. To leave their mother would make no more sense than leaping off the edge of the world. But sometimes, just at the worst point, when the calf is losing all strength there is a chance. You must sing to the calf, the song of your soul, and I will try to sing with you. If we can show the calf that your heart and mine are one, then he will be able to go with me."

Lion-Chaser had thought she would never sing again, but the hope of saving her calf gave her new strength. She began to sing the tune of the trees in the first rains, and as she did she saw again the long leaves on branches dripping with wetness from her own childhood and tasted their sweetness. Cloud didn't know Lion-Chaser's song at first, but he followed her until he too was reaching up into the fruitful green branches. And then, as their voices became one, a crack of thunder rang out on the dry plain.

Tears welled in Cloud's eyes, as the first drops of rain fell on Lion-Chaser and her cub. Lion-Chaser smiled for the last time as Cloud continued the song by himself, pulling the tune towards greater and greater strength as he tried to rouse the calf. I must give him his name, thought Cloud. He needs to hear his name. "First-Rain," he said. "First-Rain, wake up, wake up!" The rain was coming down hard now and the elephants' thick, gray skins darkened. Then suddenly there was a twitch in the calf's ear, and his trunk made a hesitant half arc in the air. Cloud nudged at First-Rain with his trunk, the drops from his eyes mingling with the rain.

Standing beside the body of his cousin, he let out a cry that pierced through the rain, and another peel of thunder was unleashed. And then it was that First-Rain picked up his head. Cloud whispered to the calf to drink and he swallowed the moisture off his lips.

"Now," said Cloud, "you and I must go from here, but we will take your mother with us in our hearts. You have seen that I carry her song, and I will teach it to you as well as the art of healing. Then you will have the power of both our souls and you will be the strongest elephant that ever walked these plains."

Slowly, First-Rain rose to his feet. Cloud told First-Rain to say goodbye to his mother's body and then invite her spirit to come with them. The calf bowed twice, and they turned to go. First-Rain stayed close to Cloud, sobbing now. He took a hesitant step and then told Cloud he must return - he could not leave her.

"First-Rain," said Cloud, "any calf that loses his mother feels lost. I'm sorry I could not save her. But now I promise on my life that I will be with you until you are fully grown. If you go down, I will stay until you are able to get up. If lions attack, they will have to kill me first. When we stop to drink, you stand at my side just like you stood at your mother's side."

First-Rain's sobbing eased as he nuzzled at Cloud's neck. "If I could carry you I would," said Cloud. "But come, we must catch up with the herd before the lions find us."

First-Rain and Cloud met the herd in the groves by the valley. The storm had freshened the trees and the rivers were alive again for the first time in months. Cloud told the herd the calf's new name and all that had happened. The elephants solemnly bowed to First-Rain, and then Gray-Mountain spoke.

"With you, First-Rain, there will always be your mother. You belong to all of us as she belongs to you. From now on you will drink from my pool, as will Cloud." Then Gray-Mountain turned to Runs-Like-the-Wind whispering, "Why is he so pale?"

Runs-Like-the-Wind told Gray-Mountain about the thunder that wakened him from his final sleep. "He gave everything to his mother, Gray-Mountain, before he woke. He was saved by Cloud and his soul now has the power of many. He is pale like a ghost, but he will be the strongest elephant on the plain."

Gray-Mountain nodded in recognition. "He will stay close to me so that he can learn the ways of leadership as well." And then Gray-Mountain spoke with a voice that was borrowed from the heavens: "From this time on Lion-Chaser's son shall be called First-Rain-Thunder."

At that, the skies let loose with the loudest crack of thunder yet, and the plain has never known before or since a winter as plentiful and wet as that winter when First-Rain-Thunder returned.