A young giraffe, Butterscotch yawned, resting his head on another giraffe. He was very gentle not to be harsh on her back, because she was the oldest in her group. Stars twinkled in the night sky as the other giraffe started talking. Her voice came out in a low moo, but he could clearly understand the content of the story. 

“When I was little, there used to be giraffes everywhere,” she started, her voice becoming higher as she spoke. Nestling in, Butterscotch perked his ears up and listened with intent. 

“We could roam freely, all over these lands. Every year we would move to new places and explore interesting things. Many things happened on these trips. All was fine, and we loved travelling. Some beings called it migrating. Travelling to places, all the time. Sometimes we would be presented with large, flashy machines shoved in our faces.”

“Cameras?” Butterscotch asked.

“Precisely. When I was about your age stories started to come up of other towers dying. Pushed out of their homes because of human farms and mines. Civilization became overpowering and dominant against our favour. Vegetation became sparse in these areas, acacia trees, gone. Our land was barren with bricks, cement and concrete. Still, nobody from my tower was hurt. I will never forget when a giraffe came back one day with stories about villages. They used our hair and bones as accessories.”

With a repulsed look on his face, Butterscotch shouted, “Why would someone want to do that?” 

“No idea. Humans are scary creatures, and most of the time there's nothing we can do to stop them.”

“When I'm old like you, I'm going to tell humans to back off! Nobody can steal my luscious locks!”

“Sure Butterscotch, sure.”

“What happened next?” 

“We came here. A nature preserve they call it. We’ve stayed safe here ever since. 

“I hope one day I can travel all over the world and see polar bears and unicorns!”

“Have fun.” The wise giraffe said. “Have fun.”