Through the dry grass of the hot savannah, the lion watched the gazelle’s graceful gait as she stepped lightly, unaware of his presence.
He cocked his head to the left in confusion.
Normally all he would see was a meal, but something about the way the land, he’d hunted on since old enough, sighed at her beauty stopped his natural instinct.
This angered the lion.
He tensed the heavy muscles in his legs, pulling himself to the ground, ready to spring.
Her benign eyes darted his way and washed him with tingling feelings he couldn’t comprehend.
She hopped to the right.
He landed where she had once stood and, with furious intent, spun to devour her.
‘Why do you prepare such pain upon me, cat?’ She asked, with a tone of tender-hearted warmth that made the cat feel giddy.
‘It’s the way of things,’ the lion began, with little surety. ‘I’m the hunter and you are my prey.’
‘The way of what?’
‘The way of-erm-things.’
‘Can’t you change those things?’
‘Why would I do that? Wouldn’t I starve to death?’
‘Not if you found another way of living,’ she told him, without hint of condescension.
‘Yes. You could try eating vegetables, for instance.’
‘Could I survive on such a diet? My ancestors never veered from meat?’
‘When you say meat, you are saying other living beings, with feelings and families.’
‘I never considered that you may have family or feelings. Are you saying that if I ate you I would cause you and your kin pain?’
‘Very much so. My sisters and parents would be terribly upset and I would suffer under your violent attack.’
‘Well, That doesn’t seem nice,’ the lion mumbled.
‘You have to consider how your own family would feel if you were eaten.’
‘Hmmmm,’ the carnivore mused. ‘And you survive on?’
‘Well, we live quite happily on herbs, foliage from shrubs, short grasses and shoots.’
‘Yes, really,’ she told him, batting her beautiful eyelashes.
‘I’m afraid that won’t do for me,’ the lion shrugged, before diving upon her soft, downy fur and tearing her gentle flesh to manageable chunks.
‘She put up a good argument, and was stunning to the eye, but I am what I am and she tasted too sweet to waste,’ he sighed, as he licked his lips of her warm, sticky blood and carried on with his meal.