Gus and the Two-Headed Shadow

Gus stretched his trunk toward the hillside. His shadow stretched too—but somehow its nose was even longer than his.

“Look at that!” Gus called. “My shadow has a bigger nose than I do!”

Faye, his woolly mammoth friend, trotted over with a fern tucked behind one ear. “Maybe it’s trying to smell the hill,” she said.

The hill stood beside them, broad and tall. Gus had decided that before the day was over, he would make a shadow bigger than the hill’s shadow. He planted his feet wide and lifted his trunk as high as it would go.

His shadow became a tall, skinny mammoth with a trunk that curled over like a question mark.

“Too skinny!” Gus said. He puffed out his cheeks and spread his ears.

Now the shadow looked like a giant teapot with legs.

Faye giggled. “A very handsome teapot.”

Gus turned sideways and stretched one tusk toward the hill. His shadow turned too, but its tusk seemed to point right at Faye’s fern.

“Careful,” she said. “It might nibble my snack.”

Gus shuffled closer to the hill. The sun was sliding toward the far ridge, and his shadow stretched farther across the grass. He crouched low, and the shadow shrank. Then he stood tall again, but now it looked like a lumpy sausage.

Gus frowned at the hill. Its shadow still covered more ground than his.

“I’ll make mine enormous,” he said. “I just need the right pose.”

He crouched low, raised his trunk, and wiggled his ears. His shadow looked like a frog wearing a hat.

Faye leaned down to inspect it. “A royal frog,” she announced.

Gus tried to look proud, but his trunk curled into a loop. The shadow’s hat tipped over its eyes.

“That’s not bigger than the hill,” he said.

“Not yet,” Faye replied. She waved her fern, and its little shadow flicked over the grass like a tiny flag. Gus watched it dance beside his own. Then he turned around to see what their shadows were doing together.

Gus blinked. Faye blinked too. On the grass, their shadows had joined at the edges.

Together, they looked like one enormous creature with two heads. Gus’s shadow stood on the left, and Faye’s stood on the right. Their ears made a wide, wobbly crown.

“Look!” Faye cried. “We’re a two-headed mammoth!”

Gus lifted his trunk. The joined shadow lifted two trunks—or almost. One stretched high while the other bent down, making the creature look as if it were sniffing its own toes.

“Try again,” said Gus. “Let’s make it the biggest two-headed mammoth on the hillside.”

They stood close together. Gus faced the sun and raised his trunk straight up. Faye lifted her trunk beside his. Their shadows joined into one long, wiggly nose.

“Longer!” Gus said.

He leaned forward. Faye leaned forward too. Their shared trunk-shadow snaked over the grass toward the hillside.

Then Faye held her fern above her head. Its shadow sprouted from the creature’s back like a leafy tail.

“Give it a wag,” Gus said.

Faye swished the fern from side to side. The shadow-tail wagged so wildly that the two-headed creature seemed to be tickling itself.

Gus shook with laughter. His tusks bumped gently against Faye’s. Their shadows wobbled, and the fern-tail flapped like a silly flag in a breeze.

“Now floppy ears!” Faye said.

They both tipped their heads. One shadow-ear drooped over the creature’s nose. The other stuck straight out. Gus twisted one ear back and Faye flapped hers forward.

The two-headed shadow had a long trunk, floppy ears, and a fern tail that waved in a big, leafy loop. It stretched over the grass, past the clover, and nearly to the foot of the hill.

Gus stood on his toes to make it taller. The sun had moved lower toward the ridge, and their shadows stretched farther across the grass.

He glanced at the hill. Its shadow was still bigger.

For a moment, he looked disappointed. Then the fern-tail gave one last ridiculous swish and brushed across both heads of the shadow-creature.

Faye snorted. Gus laughed so hard he sat down in the grass. Their enormous shadow slumped beside them in a silly, sprawling shape.

“Who cares about the hill?” Gus said. “Our creature has the best tail!”

Faye lowered her fern, and Gus sat beside her while the grass tickled his knees. Their joined shadow was no longer a giant creature. It stretched across the grass as a lumpy shape with two little heads close together.

“Now it looks like a fuzzy potato,” Faye said.

“A potato with excellent ears,” Gus replied.

They watched their shadows lengthen as the sun sank toward the ridge. Gus stretched one leg. The shadow stretched one leg too, reaching a little farther across the grass.

“Good night, long nose,” he told it.

Faye gave the fern a small wave. Its shadow waved back from the ground.

The hillside was quiet around them. A few birds called from the rocks, and the grass brushed softly against Gus’s feet. He leaned his shoulder against Faye’s shoulder. Their warm wool pressed together, and the fern rested across Faye’s knees.

“Do you think the hill knows we tried to beat its shadow?” Gus asked.

“Maybe,” said Faye. “But I think it was busy being a hill.”

Gus chuckled. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

Their shadows stretched softly over the grass, then blurred as the light faded. They didn’t look bigger than the hill. They didn’t look like a teapot or a frog or even a potato anymore. They looked like two friends sitting side by side.

“That’s a nice shape,” Faye said.

Gus nodded. “It fits us.”

When the last sunlight slipped away from the grass, the two mammoths stood up. Faye tucked the fern beneath her ear again. Gus brushed a few blades of grass from his knees.

They walked home together along the hillside path. Their feet made quiet thumps in the dirt, and Faye’s fern bobbed with each step. Gus glanced once at the big hill, then at his friend.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “we could try making our shadows look like a soup pot.”

“Only if I get to be the fern-tail,” Faye said.

Gus smiled, and they went on together beneath the first sleepy stars, talking softly as the path led them home.