antelope?”

“Nope.”

“Oh no, please don’t say we got to go down the river for a hippo.”

“No...” Falana laughed lightly and turned away. The clouds had thinned a little, and now the moonlight shone down intermittently. “Tonight Falana, its buffalo.”

“Aaaah…”

Shaha followed her daughter through the shifting, shimmering silver heads of the grasses out on to the open plain below the ridge. High above them the moon slid out from behind the thickest clouds to bathe the lionesses in silver light brighter than the final afterglow of day.

The two lionesses covered the quarter of a mile to the fringes of the herd of buffalo in silence. The high hisses and rustles of the tall, dry grasses covering all sounds of their pawfall. The wind cut across their path, carrying their scent far from the herd.

They slipped to within a hundred lengths; stopped and sat back, looking out ahead over the dappled rippling sea of grass. The shadows dropped by the clouds slid over them from the herd. The peaceful grunts of the buffalo and lazy swishes of their tails showed that they had not yet noticed Shaha and Falana. The lionesses dropped down below the grass tops and waited quietly, speaking in gentle, hushed tones.

“Well, there they are. What do you think Mother? Shall we move closer now? They seem less bunched over there to the right.”

“Does it matter what I say any more Falana? You always do what you want anyway. I’m not up to being choosy yet, though it does look more promising over there.”

Falana turned and crept away. Shaha followed a few seconds later along the corridor of grass cleared by her daughter. They both knew it was the movement of the grass that was most likely to give them away. They both knew Shaha couldn’t run far, if at all. She wanted to keep the movement to a minimum even if they were well out of sight, sound and smell of the buffalo.

The unchanged snorts and grunts from the buffalo reassured the lionesses. They slipped nearer without risking a second look over the grass tops. They crept closer, slowing; moving paw-by-paw, ears twitching and turning to catch the faintest sounds. At length Falana stopped, moving no further forwards. The grass was thinning; the soil beneath had grown drier. They were a little more than thirty lengths from a small group of five or six buffalo. It had taken them more than twenty minutes to cover the distance from where they had last caught sight of their potential prey.

Falana stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the flank of the nearest buffalo that just showed through the waving stalks of the grass. Shaha edged alongside her.

“OK Falana. Which one do you reckon?”

“I can only see one, and not too much of that either.”

“Well, take a proper look. Go on!”

“OK, OK, I’m on it, don’t get your whiskers in a twist Mother.” Falana turned her ears forwards and slowly, and without even the slightest shake, lifted her head, keeping her eyes fixed on the buffalo. As she breached the grass line, she saw that the herd had moved while they had been getting into position. The small group, still split off from the main herd, was now some ten or more lengths to their right. Falana paused and looked about, scanning her eyes from her unmoving head over the sea of grass.

“Well?”

Falana dropped back down like a crocodile slipping below the water.

“There’s too many here, we’d not stand a chance. Come on; let’s move a little further on.”

“You forgot they move, didn’t you? I keep on telling you about that but do you listen? No, you can’t even trust your own mother, can you?”

This time it was Shaha that moved away, just as silently as her daughter, if a little slower. She kept her head higher, stealing glimpses of the buffalo over the shifting sands of grass. The danger was the buffalo might see the dark tips to her ears floating above the waves. In the clouded starlight it was a chance she thought worth taking. The wind blew across so they could not hear the sounds of the buffalo’s hooves on the earth. The herd shifted forwards every quarter of a minute or so in search of the best of the remaining grazing. By sound alone the lionesses could not maintain an adequate map of the herd as it shuffled across the savannah. They needed to see their prey to be sure of tracking it. Within ten minutes Shaha had brought them both back to within twenty lengths of the group, now shrunk to four, which they had seen earlier. She paused and sniffed the wind then dropped down out of sight.

“Here Falana, you have a look and decide which one is the easiest.”

Falana looked at her mother through half closed eyes.

“Well, thank you mother.”

She turned her head back towards the group; lifting it to look clear over the cover. She dropped down again suddenly as she caught sight of the closest buffalo staring hard in their direction.

“What’s the matter Falana?”

“It’s looking at me. I’m sure it saw me, I’m sure it did! Come on, let’s get out of here and try somewhere else.”

Falana tried to turn and leave the way they had come, but Shaha raised a forepaw and patted her daughter’s hindquarters.

“Quiet Falana, I can’t hear anything.”

“What? What do you expect to hear?”

“Alarm snorts, hooves thumped on the ground, anything… but there’s nothing. Come back here, they’ve not seen us, they’d not see that rock of Nengwalamwe’s in this light.”

Falana stared back at her mother. Her hunger bit deep, she knew her mother was probably right; and in her state, they’d only get the one chance. It would take the rest of the night to set up another strike as good as this.

Falana’s impatience was just another of her failings. There was more to it than that, however. She would much rather spend hours setting up new strike of her own than spend ten minutes completing the one she and her mother had already started. While her pride had held her from answering Nengwalamwe’s pleading, she knew there was little to be gained by letting her feelings spoil a perfectly good hunt just because her mother had stuck her nose in. Falana knew her mother knew her many moods too well. The time when she could hide them from her had long since passed. Hiding her feelings from Nengwalamwe was much more enjoyable. She wondered if perhaps he really did feel things for her - just perhaps. At least she now knew where to find him.

“Falana? Is something wrong? Come on, we’ve got work to do, I can’t stay on my paws all night.”

Falana blinked and shook her head gently so as not to disturb the long grass.

“I’m fine mother. I’ll lead.”

Shaha watched her daughter intently as she brushed past and headed off parallel to the buffalo. Before Shaha could move off Falana stopped dead. After a few seconds, she pulled herself forwards, turning effortlessly to face the prey. Her body curved round as she turned, sliding elegantly as if round some imagined obstacle that she dare not touch. Her tail swished in front of Shaha’s nose. Shaha didn’t pull back; she let the tip brush over her muzzle. Falana pulled it away as she moved forwards another length, swishing it back.

Ahead the grass thinned still more and the shorter, thicker grasses favoured by the grazers took over to cover the ground barely hoof high. The buffalo moved on slowly some ten lengths from the long cover, just within strike distance for lion. Yet, was it close enough for a elder lioness still not fully recovered from injury? Their best chance lay with getting as close as possible before the buffalo could raise the alarm. Then they could summon up a modest burst of acceleration, and, before reaching any real speed, catch and take down the closest buffalo as it tried to lumber away. Waiting for the buffalo to make the first move would avoid having to face their horns as they would be running away. A pre-emptive strike from cover ran the risk of the prey making a stand. If that happened the attack would have to be frontal or worse still, broken off before it had even begun. This then was a time for patience and stealth, for manoeuvring to best advantage, for not making any sound, nor creating any sight that would betray them. Time to be the huntress.

As Falana moved forwards again, she grew aware of a something new. They had been moving steadily with the herd for some time; they were now running out of cover. The patch of long grass, at one time seemingly endless, was indeed now ending, and there was not much cover left. They were deliberately moving to its long edge. Just thirty lengths to their left lay the short edge, beyond that the short grass curved round. The lionesses were running out of space to work. Time was not much of a concern; it was the confinement that really worried Falana. They would soon have to break cover or break off the attack. They were almost close enough for an effective strike, but were they close enough for a safe strike?

“Falana, what’s that? There, look!”

“What?” Falana’s concentration broke. “Mother, shut up will you. We’ll be out of this one way or another soon, ‘till then can you just keep it down - please.”

Falana drew forwards again, assessing the distance carefully. She stood up higher, half expecting to be seen. She was right. The lionesses heard the distinctive alarm grunt of a buffalo, the rest of the group lifted and turned their heads

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