She spotted him once, in the early morning:
golden nectar spun upon the pillow, knotted into
a mane thick enough to hide his face from all sorts of bad dreams.
Time inhaled the dust motes playing in the sunlight and held its breath.
“I know he’s over there doing god knows what with that woman. I still feel guilty.”
She was ready to pounce. Muscles taut, crouch-hidden, she analyzed her prey.
A handsome lion he was. But no match for a skilled huntress.
A little hungry, that lion was. Hungry enough to gobble up his favorite gazelle from the herd.
“She’s my baby girl. I’m not going to risk losing her because of ...us.”
Who else was brave enough to disentangle the doe from the beast?
He roared and snarled and ranted and growled, but she never took her eyes off him.
Mommy always said you could lose yourself if you didn’t keep your eyes where they belonged.
“Let it go. I love you both, but he came to me first.”
Time coughed; the little huntress lunged into the lion’s den, well aware of the danger,
enough to be terrified when silence enveloped the savanna sheets.
Alone, she stood at the edge of the bed and watched her beloved gazelle morph into a lioness.