gourd…
The lion’s plight had eaten deeper and deeper into her thoughts while the dancing, feasting and merriment wound on and on, and the slaves worked their fingers to the bone for the nobles’ and priests’ enjoyment. She eased her shoulders. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the rhythm of the heavy stick used to pound dried spice-pods and imagine chopping vegetables by the cart load. One day she had slaughtered, plucked and prepared over a hundred chickens. Pots? Were there so many pots in the world? But at least the slaves had been allowed to eat well. Her stomach was grateful for that!
Was the lion still lying there? Would she smell only death when she entered its lair? She doubted it would recover. After all, hyena jaws were powerful enough to crack the bones of an elephant. But it still didn’t make sense. Why would any hyena attack a large male lion, even one injured by a hunter’s arrow?
For the umpteenth time, she wondered if she wasn’t going insane. Her newfound ability to listen to animals, while scary and smacking of witchcraft or asmati-work, was also addictive. She had to keep it hidden or be branded a witch. The sensible part of her wanted it to stop, but she found she craved trying to see what she could do. Maybe she should confront the elephants? Or had she simply imagined a trunk inserting a key into her mind...?
She should worry about explanations later.
That lion was huge . Shioni had seen a few, but never from close up. Last time had been too close. She paused, seeking to penetrate the shadows in the narrow defile that led to its lair.
Suddenly, a searing pain ripped across her left shoulder. A terrible blow spun her right around. Sky, rocks, an earth-shaking roar; she was lying on her back, whimpering, and now a hot breath wafted across her cheek, the musky reek of a male lion, and fangs flashed near her throat.
“No!” she cried out. “Please!”
The fangs gripped the soft skin of her throat delicately. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!”
“I… I…” The shock was too great.
“Ah!” the fangs withdrew . “Your scent… I know you! You were in my cave. I thought I dreamed.”
“Guilty,” Shioni managed in a whisper, clutching her wound. She couldn’t keep the shredded muscle together. There was an alarming amount of blood seeping between her fingers. This time she had gone too far. She should have told Mama Nomuula where she was going–would they even find her body? Would Selam or Desta have told her? But they only knew about Ginab Village…
“You’ ve a mane like a lion,” puzzled her attacker. “Are you a human cub? What is your name? Is your den in the stone house with the other human creatures?” Whiskers tickled her cheek. “What is this leaking of water, cub?”
“ Crying? I am… Shioni.”
The moon chose that moment to br eak free of the bank of clouds and bathe the scene in cold brilliance. The great lion sat back on his haunches and regarded her with tawny eyes so deep and wise that they seemed almost sorrowful. His size was formidable; the distinctive black ruff of his mane, majestic. His intense gaze seemed to burn into her heart and mind, stripping them bare. Shioni had never in her life felt quite so little . Not even standing beside an elephant.
She could hear him wonderfully well. Her ears were hearing a language she should never have understood. Her brain was transforming it into speech. But while she comprehended it at one level, at another, their interaction resonated with nuances and undercurrents she did not yet grasp.
“Shioni?” he rumbled, at length . “That is an admirable name. Here,” he said, moving forward to nuzzle the hand covering her shoulder, “do not be afraid. Remove your paw. Let me tend your wound.”
A remarkably rough tongue rasped over the broken skin. A glint of white bone showed in several of the four slashes from the lion’s claws, Shioni saw, and rightly, she should be fainting
The lion’s plight had eaten deeper and deeper into her thoughts while the dancing, feasting and merriment wound on and on, and the slaves worked their fingers to the bone for the nobles’ and priests’ enjoyment. She eased her shoulders. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the rhythm of the heavy stick used to pound dried spice-pods and imagine chopping vegetables by the cart load. One day she had slaughtered, plucked and prepared over a hundred chickens. Pots? Were there so many pots in the world? But at least the slaves had been allowed to eat well. Her stomach was grateful for that!
Was the lion still lying there? Would she smell only death when she entered its lair? She doubted it would recover. After all, hyena jaws were powerful enough to crack the bones of an elephant. But it still didn’t make sense. Why would any hyena attack a large male lion, even one injured by a hunter’s arrow?
For the umpteenth time, she wondered if she wasn’t going insane. Her newfound ability to listen to animals, while scary and smacking of witchcraft or asmati-work, was also addictive. She had to keep it hidden or be branded a witch. The sensible part of her wanted it to stop, but she found she craved trying to see what she could do. Maybe she should confront the elephants? Or had she simply imagined a trunk inserting a key into her mind...?
She should worry about explanations later.
That lion was huge . Shioni had seen a few, but never from close up. Last time had been too close. She paused, seeking to penetrate the shadows in the narrow defile that led to its lair.
Suddenly, a searing pain ripped across her left shoulder. A terrible blow spun her right around. Sky, rocks, an earth-shaking roar; she was lying on her back, whimpering, and now a hot breath wafted across her cheek, the musky reek of a male lion, and fangs flashed near her throat.
“No!” she cried out. “Please!”
The fangs gripped the soft skin of her throat delicately. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!”
“I… I…” The shock was too great.
“Ah!” the fangs withdrew . “Your scent… I know you! You were in my cave. I thought I dreamed.”
“Guilty,” Shioni managed in a whisper, clutching her wound. She couldn’t keep the shredded muscle together. There was an alarming amount of blood seeping between her fingers. This time she had gone too far. She should have told Mama Nomuula where she was going–would they even find her body? Would Selam or Desta have told her? But they only knew about Ginab Village…
“You’ ve a mane like a lion,” puzzled her attacker. “Are you a human cub? What is your name? Is your den in the stone house with the other human creatures?” Whiskers tickled her cheek. “What is this leaking of water, cub?”
“ Crying? I am… Shioni.”
The moon chose that moment to br eak free of the bank of clouds and bathe the scene in cold brilliance. The great lion sat back on his haunches and regarded her with tawny eyes so deep and wise that they seemed almost sorrowful. His size was formidable; the distinctive black ruff of his mane, majestic. His intense gaze seemed to burn into her heart and mind, stripping them bare. Shioni had never in her life felt quite so little . Not even standing beside an elephant.
She could hear him wonderfully well. Her ears were hearing a language she should never have understood. Her brain was transforming it into speech. But while she comprehended it at one level, at another, their interaction resonated with nuances and undercurrents she did not yet grasp.
“Shioni?” he rumbled, at length . “That is an admirable name. Here,” he said, moving forward to nuzzle the hand covering her shoulder, “do not be afraid. Remove your paw. Let me tend your wound.”
A remarkably rough tongue rasped over the broken skin. A glint of white bone showed in several of the four slashes from the lion’s claws, Shioni saw, and rightly, she should be fainting
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