nurses them. And now theyVe discovered the evidence of my struggle with the honey badger. They lick the bite marks on my nose, the scratches on my cheeks. The bolder female, my favorite one, rakes her claws through my mane, getting out the dirt thatâs entangled where I cannot reach.
Grooming me; this youngster is grooming me.
A reedlike spirit within me cries. I stretch as long as I can, so as much of me as possible can receive their tender gift.
The cubs crawl all over me, tumbling happily, unaware of the tumultuous feelings in my chest. My little female hums, like the lioness back at the hunting park in Tabriz. And the amazing thought comes: In a few months they will eat meat. Then I can steal my favorite female. She can live with me, and Iâll bring her the leftovers from her pride. And when sheâs adult, sheâll hunt for both of us, for I have seen howthe male waits while the females hunt. It will come naturally to her. We will rub heads and groom each other and raise cubs and grow old together.
India holds the answer, after all.
I will overcome the worst of the pariâs curse: I will not pass the rest of my life alone. I am Prince Orasmyn. I need nothing from my old life, I need no one.
Roar!
The mother lioness lunges at me.
I jump away.
We circle each other in front of the mouth of the cave. Already I hear the other lionesses running. Within moments my back is to the cave, and Iâm surrounded on all other sides. The cubs whine and whimper in confusion. The adults growl and roar savagely, in synchrony. They snap at me. I whip myself around, roaring back as ferociously as I know how. One well-landed slash of their claws would cripple me for good. I am lion meat.
A cub runs between my legs. I trip and roll toward a lioness at one side. Astonishingly, she backs up with a growl. I get to my feet and run straight past her. The ruling male appears from nowhereâhe runs after me. But heâs not even trying to catch me. He chases at a slow pace. Just to let me know I donât belong, Iâm not welcome. This is not my home.
I am lion, and I am not lion.
And I am alone.
The lionesses in Fatherâs hunting park accepted me because there were no other males around. But in the wilds of India, no lioness will accept me. And even if one happened to, even if I stole that little female and made her mine, a bachelor lion would come along and take her away before long.
I am doomed to loneliness. And to living off the refuse of others.
The ruling male gives one final roar.
I feel the sound in my bones long after it dies from the air.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Traveling Again
T he cobra rears.
I am cornered under the low rock ledge where I slept last night.
The cobraâs neck flattens into a hood almost as wide as my head. Its body bunches in zigzags under it, but I can tell it is long. Maybe twice as long as my body. A king cobra.
One bite would kill a man.
The urge to run tightens me like rock. I fight it. There is not enough room for me to pass safely. My jaw aches to roar, a wasted act on the deaf snake.
The snake head moves slightly, as though floating on a breeze I cannot feel. Its eyes hold me. It flickers a split tongue.
I donât know what to do. But I canât bear this waiting. I bolt.
And Iâm free. Alive and well past the striking range of those fangs. I stop and look back.
The snake glides slowly into my spot. It coils up and lies still.
I have no idea why I am still alive. But I recognize the cobraâs gesture as a farewell from India, appropriate, since I had already decided to leave. The territory of the small pride is two daysâ walk behind me.
I travel west, into Persia. My country offers no welcome; I donât harbor delusions. I go to Persia on a missionâto get the treasure waiting for me in the hunting park of Tabriz. What will come after that is beyond my ability to reason. My thoughts come to a halt. I know nothing except desire: I want
Grooming me; this youngster is grooming me.
A reedlike spirit within me cries. I stretch as long as I can, so as much of me as possible can receive their tender gift.
The cubs crawl all over me, tumbling happily, unaware of the tumultuous feelings in my chest. My little female hums, like the lioness back at the hunting park in Tabriz. And the amazing thought comes: In a few months they will eat meat. Then I can steal my favorite female. She can live with me, and Iâll bring her the leftovers from her pride. And when sheâs adult, sheâll hunt for both of us, for I have seen howthe male waits while the females hunt. It will come naturally to her. We will rub heads and groom each other and raise cubs and grow old together.
India holds the answer, after all.
I will overcome the worst of the pariâs curse: I will not pass the rest of my life alone. I am Prince Orasmyn. I need nothing from my old life, I need no one.
Roar!
The mother lioness lunges at me.
I jump away.
We circle each other in front of the mouth of the cave. Already I hear the other lionesses running. Within moments my back is to the cave, and Iâm surrounded on all other sides. The cubs whine and whimper in confusion. The adults growl and roar savagely, in synchrony. They snap at me. I whip myself around, roaring back as ferociously as I know how. One well-landed slash of their claws would cripple me for good. I am lion meat.
A cub runs between my legs. I trip and roll toward a lioness at one side. Astonishingly, she backs up with a growl. I get to my feet and run straight past her. The ruling male appears from nowhereâhe runs after me. But heâs not even trying to catch me. He chases at a slow pace. Just to let me know I donât belong, Iâm not welcome. This is not my home.
I am lion, and I am not lion.
And I am alone.
The lionesses in Fatherâs hunting park accepted me because there were no other males around. But in the wilds of India, no lioness will accept me. And even if one happened to, even if I stole that little female and made her mine, a bachelor lion would come along and take her away before long.
I am doomed to loneliness. And to living off the refuse of others.
The ruling male gives one final roar.
I feel the sound in my bones long after it dies from the air.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Traveling Again
T he cobra rears.
I am cornered under the low rock ledge where I slept last night.
The cobraâs neck flattens into a hood almost as wide as my head. Its body bunches in zigzags under it, but I can tell it is long. Maybe twice as long as my body. A king cobra.
One bite would kill a man.
The urge to run tightens me like rock. I fight it. There is not enough room for me to pass safely. My jaw aches to roar, a wasted act on the deaf snake.
The snake head moves slightly, as though floating on a breeze I cannot feel. Its eyes hold me. It flickers a split tongue.
I donât know what to do. But I canât bear this waiting. I bolt.
And Iâm free. Alive and well past the striking range of those fangs. I stop and look back.
The snake glides slowly into my spot. It coils up and lies still.
I have no idea why I am still alive. But I recognize the cobraâs gesture as a farewell from India, appropriate, since I had already decided to leave. The territory of the small pride is two daysâ walk behind me.
I travel west, into Persia. My country offers no welcome; I donât harbor delusions. I go to Persia on a missionâto get the treasure waiting for me in the hunting park of Tabriz. What will come after that is beyond my ability to reason. My thoughts come to a halt. I know nothing except desire: I want
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