A mass of dumb steam-train armor. Tiny beady eyes close-set into the axe-shaped stony head. View field so narrow she can only see right in front of her into the long tunnel tapering down into an intensely focused spot at the other end. A spot so small it can contain only one object which happens to be unlucky enough to fall into this sharpened span of her attention. And once the object is captured, the mass of cast iron intention starts to proceed toward its target, moved by the desire to interact. Slowly at first but then accelerating exponentially. Until the petrified object releases itself from the stupor and flees in fear from tonnes of unmotivated intensity charging right at it to trample it, without doubt, flat into the ground.
The run-out-on rhino is then left befuddled. Staring into the empty space. Wondering what had gone wrong. Her tunnel is like a cone collar - she can only see in one direction and cannot look back. Or see herself through the eyes of the object on the other end. Or see beyond the moment. Here and now is all there is for her. She is sincerely surprised to find the object she had in her tunnel disappear.
The desire to interact dimly glowing inside this lithoidal mammoth is the grabbing instinct, in fact. She charges forth to take and consume. Not to give and share. Her desire is not offering anything. Only expecting. And it turns into a rage of disappointment when the object appears to be unwilling to meet her expectations. The caustic disappointment is then replaced with teary self-pity. Poor rhino.
But rhinos are unicorns gone wrong... right?
