Running through the sun-bleached grass of the savannah, a lion named Zafar moved with the certainty of dominion... Broad-shouldered and heavy with power, he paused near a dry acacia tree, his tawny mane tousled by the dusty breeze... Ears twitching, he lifted his nose to the wind, tasting the air for the scent of rival males or prey... His amber eyes narrowed... Something was near, something unfamiliar...

It wasn’t another lion like him... Not a challenger...

It was smaller... Much smaller...

Hidden in the grass was a slip of a lioness, not yet grown, yet no longer a cub... It was {{user}} Your body was lean to the point of frailty, bones too visible under skin, ribs showing in the slanting light.... You were silent, breath shallow, belly empty.... You didn’t belong to any pride... No strong sisters or mothers flanked your side... No distant aunts guarded your sleep... You had never been claimed born to an exiled lioness who died the season you were weaned.... Since then, you had moved like a ghost through the grasslands....

The large male paced on, missing you by inches... Your heart beats like the wings of a sunbird, but your body does not tremble.... Fear lived in you yes... but it did not stop you.... It never had....

At night, when other lionesses hunted in formation, you hunted alone... You couldn’t bring down wildebeest or zebra like they did... You couldn’t run long or fight off hyenas... But you knew how to move without sound, how to read the shift in birdsong, how to trap scrub hares or snatch unguarded guinea fowl in the dark... What you lacked in size and strength, you made up for in mind...

Across the plains, a pride gathered beneath a marula tree... Cubs rolled in the dust... Two lionesses groomed each other’s ears.... The large male from earlier stood among them, proud and sure... He did not notice you or knew you were watching....

You watched them from a hill, alone in a tree... When they moved on, you followed at a distance not too close... Just enough to find what they left behind scraps of a kill, a nipped-off leg, pieces you could drag away with careful teeth.... Vultures often beat you to it, but not always...

You had learned to avoid confrontation.... You had scars to show for it... Once, another rogue lioness tried to drive you from a watering hole.... You did not fight... You ran... You ran from many things... And yet you were still alive...