sounds and smells, pacing out a trail all his own until dawn came, and with it still more rain. The pair pressed on until it was Nengwalamwe’s turn to carry the burden of sleep. Mtundu went off foraging; Nengwalamwe, he said, was more than big enough to look after himself.

 

***

 

Nengwalamwe slept uneasily on the darkened bare ground below the canopy. The forest floor smelled fresh and earthy. Though he felt every ant, thousand upon thousand, that scurried across his tail like ships at sea; leaf fragment sails catching the becalmed air of the forest, he managed some respite from wakefulness.

The rain had stopped again. The sun, way above the branches, lifted the water from the soil, leaving it to hang heavily and mustily about the tree trunks. He imagined the rubble in front of the cave steaming and glistening in the sun, the water running off on to the plains below. Could that rock too fall like the leaves? Tumbling, swaying in the heavy, moist air? In the distance, and occasionally much closer, whelps and yowls of monkeys rang out through the leaves; none roused the lion. He was alone - Mtundu had still not returned - and determined to make whatever he could of the solitude; sleep seemed by far the most appealing pastime.

He did not sleep long. Other needs pressed on him and, in the heaviest part of the day, he got up, shook the coalesced moisture from his mane and wandered off to find a secluded spot. Before he had taken more than a few strides he started wondered why he was bothering - all the forest was secluded, so all spots were equally suitable. Still, if he was to go back to where he had been sleeping, he thought he might as well make the effort to make the rest of the day that bit less unpleasant. He looked about, spotting a patch of heavy undergrowth some ten lengths away; far enough for his purpose. With a final look about, he lifted a foreleg, took a couple of licks and slipped away into the vegetation. Had any animal wandered past just a minute later they would have seen and heard nothing.

When Nengwalamwe returned to the patch of bare ground he looked about, turning on the spot three times to find the perfect lie. He was just about to settle once more when a sound caught his attention. Many sounds in the forest were unfamiliar, so many that he had got used to ignoring any that he did not recognise. This was different; it was oddly familiar and it was not a sound he associated with baboons. It was a rapidly repeating almost inaudible rasping. At first, the lion could not place it, nor could he locate it. Then came a second sound - of leaves crumbling; as if from a slowly placed pawfall. Above the sound, the rasping came again, hovering in the humid, fetid air. Now Nengwalamwe knew what it was; it was an animal panting in the moist heat, more than just an animal; it was a wild dog.

Another leaf crumbled as the dog moved another paw forward delicately.

‘No, it can’t be. I’m hearing things now. No dog’s going to come out here, there’s no way that’s a dog, absolutely no way.’ He slipped down on to the ground, thinking, ‘It’s all got too much for me, I’ve got to get some sleep.’

He lay watching the shadows as he slipped off into the haziness of half-sleep. The sun streamed in almost solid beams that slipped and fell from the trees to his nearhind quarter. The bark of the trees ahead stood out plainly in the revealing light. Then a shadow passed across them, a shadow that should never have been there. Nengwalamwe lifted himself instantly from near-sleep. His sight cleared, and the shadow moved again. There could now be no doubt and he acted on it, thrusting forwards and upwards, closing on the shadow and covering it with his own. The dog hardly had time to hunch down, such was the speed of the surge, but the lion did not strike.

Nengwalamwe had no firm idea of what he was pouncing at, nor even of what he would do when he caught it, eat it most likely. Lions normally watch their prey for a long time before striking, hours even, but all Nengwalamwe had seen were a few out of place shadows. All he had heard were fragmentary sounds that could have been made by a wild dog, or any of thirty or more other animals. He sliced through the shrubby undergrowth; it parted violently, moments later Nengwalamwe’s forepaws forced down an animal. He had been right; it was a wild hunting dog; and not just any dog. It was Eddie.

Had Nengwalamwe’s hunting instincts been fully aroused he would have killed the dog before it had even turned, instead he slipped to a halt; dragging the dog beneath his forepaws. He raised and twisted his head and growled sharply. The dog, all breath knocked from him, struggled for a few moments then lay still, gasping, looking the lion straight in the eye.

“What are you doing here?” Nengwalamwe shouted through his growl.

“You ain’t never gonna know lion!” the dog countered. “What you gonna do ‘bout it?” Nengwalamwe intensified his growl. “I don’t reckon you’ve got the guts to do me in ‘ave you lion? The way you ran back there on the riverbank I reckon you’re just like your mother. Yeah, you’re mummy’s little boy ain’tcha?”

“Keep Melakwe out of this! What are you doing here? Answer me before I kill you!”

Eddie’s ears pricked up and a sparkle returned to his eyes. “Melakwe is it?” he sneered. “You ain’t got no choice Melakwe’s little boy, you’ve got to kill me now ain’t you?” The dog almost laughed. “What else can y’do? I could be on me own, but can you risk it? If you kill me, I’ll be out of yer way for good, but what about me mates? They ain’t goin’ to take kindly to you bumpin’ me off are they? Am I right?” He looked away. “Yeah, too right I am.”

Nengwalamwe jumped up, lifting his forepaws off Eddie.

“Get out! Go on, you’re not worth dirtying my paws!”

“I thought so. Hah lion, you’re just like all the rest, you know what’s good for you.” The dog struggled to his paws. “You can’t kill me can you? You want to, I can see it in your eyes, but you can’t because you know it won’t stop nuffin. You’ll have to kill all us dogs, one by one, ‘cause we never stop - never!” He drew close to the lion, close enough for Nengwalamwe to smell his breath. “But you can stop it. You can stop it right here, right now. It’s easy, no sweat. You just turn around, head away from the river and keep on going. We’ll look after Falana for you.” He smirked, lolling his tongue. “She’s a cracker ain’t she, you’ve got some taste I’ll give you that.” He leant forward and slurped the lion’s cheek. “But we can’t let you have lion pups running around all over the place now can we? I hear there’s no danger of that yet, and that’s the way it’s gonna stay. So Melakwe’s little lion - turn and run; run away and never come back.” The dog began to laugh, nodding his head and half closing his eyes.

No one can ever know what then passed through Eddie’s mind, before Nengwalamwe’s foreclaws. He hardly had time to realise that he had under estimated the fragility of a lion’s temper, and the speed of his paw. He had never met any male lions other than Nengwalamwe and so it may be that the ear-splitting howl that reverberated through the forest was born from surprise; it may have been from sheer terror. It was certainly the last sound he ever made.

 

***

 

Standing over his kill, the lion looked up red mouthed and cast around the forest. His ears stood high, each moving independently at the slightest sound. Satisfied that there was nothing there, he dropped down, belly to the ground, and set about taking his fill.

“I’ll stop it all right…” A branch cracked overhead; something fell through the trees a little way off. An ear moved to locate the noise. “Let them come. One by one if it must be. I’ll just have to take that chance dog, just as you had to take yours.”

 

***

 

It was mid afternoon when Mtundu appeared. He broke cover almost opposite the sleeping lion and made to dash over to him. Before he had gone two loping paces he stopped and sneered in disgust at a few scattered bones, picked clean by piercing teeth and a rasping tongue. The baboon gazed at the remains for a moment, as if curious as to what it might have been. The lion opened an eye.

“Nengwe? Do ya have to leave your stinkin’ leftovers lying around? Anyhow, what was it? Good eatin’ eh?”

“It was nothing. It wasn’t here” the lion replied through a gaping yawn.

“For nothing it sure left a lot behind.”

“It was nothing. You said it couldn’t find us. You said they wouldn’t follow us here, but there it is.”

Mtundu backed away to skirt round the bones. “Nengwe, what are ya talkin’ about?”

“It was a wild dog Mtundu. One of those hunting dogs you said would never follow us, never find us. So, how come you know so much about these dogs huh?” The lion reached forward and licked a forepaw.

“Hey, I have eyes and ears just like you.” Nengwalamwe eyed the baboon fiercely. “OK, so maybe not like you, but I keep mine open! The dogs ain’t comin’ after ya.”

“No? So what’s that? An aardvark? Where’d you get to anyhow?”

“Come on, I gotta eat. These

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