This year’s drought was rough and I was ravenous with hunger. Days had passed without so much as a morsel of fruit - which wasn’t my favorite. But if a pear was to drop in front of me right now, there would be no hesitancy to consume. My feet were tired from days of walking without finding any sustenance, and my eyes strained to see something, anything, in the distance. I could begin to feel my body failing and it worried me.

But then - one day - them, there, on the rocks over a small pond. Water wasn’t calling to me, because there had been much of that on my recent travels through this area. But they were. Two bodies, breathing, waiting to be hunted. They were sitting, as if they wouldn’t even put up a fight. I was used to taking down big game - gazelles, zebras, tigers, even - not these … things. What were they even? They were speaking to each other about something I didn’t understand. I didn’t care, anyway.

I watched them from behind some shaggy, dead grass. Not even the grass was thriving here anymore. There was some green in these lands, but not much. The food on the rocks seemed to be admiring the greenery. I would put an end to that soon. I licked a dry tongue over my sharp, predator teeth and readied myself to pounce. The lion would eat tonight. The drought was over.