Elizabeth’s grand sire’s time. It was well practised and required few calls to make it work. At its simplest, the method would bring down most prey within a few minutes, but they had the stamina to keep it up for an hour before they closed in. There was no need for stealth, indeed the technique relied on the dogs being seen.

They moved off to the north, along the riverside. Cresting a rise, Elizabeth called them to a halt. Ahead a herd of some nine or ten elephant; females and calves; heading in leisurely single file toward the river ford. One of the calves ran off, turning back toward the lion’s rock. His mother stomped out after him, soon catching the youngster. She made him grasp her tail with his trunk and led him back to their place in the file. The other females gathered round, some looking out in concerned vigilance.

The dogs waited. The elephants looked to be moving on. Then they stopped and turned back. George crept up to Elizabeth and twittered into her ear, “I don’t fancy messin’ with them trunk swingers again. Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

Elizabeth made no reply. Her jaw hung open, she panted lightly, staring at the herd slowly assembling back into file. She pulled her tongue in noisily, shook her head and turned, walking silently back through the hunting party.

She led them southeast, away from the river; past Saffi’s Bluffs; where they waited while a long trail of zebra crossed ahead of them; and on to the low hills beyond. There the soil deepened and supported thicker clumps of trees and denser scrub. Here they regrouped, looking to the grasslands beyond. George slipped up to Elizabeth, twittering hopefully in greeting. She ignored him at first, looking intently out from the rise.

“Impala. We’ll take a female. That one’ll do: there.”

“Yeah, Elizabeth, no trubs. I can taste it already.”

“Forget it. You ain’t eating it.”

“What? You pullin’ my leg?”

“No.” She raised her voice so that all could hear. “No, it ain’t nosh. We’re goin’ to give it to that…” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “…that bloody lion.”

The huddled, crowded dogs muttered. ‘Arry spoke up. “Give it to the ‘effing cat?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that? Get going: wide to the right.”

‘Arry set off, keeping to cover where ever he could. It would take a little time for him to get in position behind the mark.

“George and Jane’ll take it to ‘is rock. We’ll all mark it first.”

“Mark it? Wha’d’you mean ‘mark it’ Elizabeth?”

“Mark it. Piss on it George. You’re first.” She looked sternly at the others each in turn. “We want ‘im to know exactly who put it there. Is that clear?”

George held his ears back, screeched up his eyes, and spoke for the rest: “Crystal Elizabeth.”

“Now then look to. Lead’s goin’” She rose to fours and leant forward, “Lead’s gone.” Jane got up and walked after her, then remaining five. They walked steadily down slope, rounding the taller scrub, winding through the trees and out in to the open. Any prey seeing the column knew what they were doing. They knew they were safe as long as the file remained; it was when they split that the danger grew.

The impala grew wary, feeding a little more quickly out of the way, sheepherding their young ahead of them. They could not tell on who the dogs would fall, it may not even have been for them. Still they looked on the dogs, approaching steadily, quietly, deliberately. A small group ran, leaping in a confused mass. The dogs ignored them and walked on in plain sight.

With a few simple monotone calls the pack suddenly split. The lead pair carried on while behind them first a male, then two more turned away to one side. Within a few strides two more peeled off to the other side. A group of gemsbok ran up from dense scrub to the east; the dogs lost some of their customary cohesion. The hooing calls came more quickly. The pack working quickly to get back into formation.

Three impala, all young females, red-backed and un-horned, saw the lead dogs striding toward them, closing steadily. Closing too slowly they thought. Any impala could outrun a dog, they all knew that. They turned and ran nonchalantly, leaping occasionally more for the fun of it than to throw the dogs off. Yet still the dogs came, faster now, calling all the time. One of the females turned away to the side. She reared up as she saw George and two others. She collected herself and then leapt over them, they didn’t follow.  Instead they closed in on her companions, tightening the noose.

A mid-afternoon’s bit of fun at the dogs’ expense turned to raw fear. The impala ran for their lives, turning to each side to escape, only to run into dogs on both sides, and still the plain hunters kept on coming, steadily kept on running them down. Within minutes the impala were totally separated from the herd. They were on their own and the dogs were closing. Coming together, squeezing the prey, driving them away from any hope.

The impala began to tire. They were now running for their lives, and they had long since run out of places to run to. Yet still the dogs came, pressing on, hemming in, running down.

The end came simply enough. The five closed the noose, two from one side, and three from the other. One appeared out of the grass right under the impala. Only one impala leapt over him to safety. The other died there in the heat of the afternoon. Her calls for help ignored; her end unseen. Her fate had been decided long before and far away in deep cover. Yet the dogs didn’t eat her. One by one, females and males starting with George marked her deep red back, light counter-shaded belly and slight, long-nosed head. Just as Elizabeth had said.

***

Mtundu sat stunned. The stick still lay to his side.

“Mtundu, what was that?”

He looked at Shaha blankly, “What was what?”

“That - there, on the kopje across the valley.”

Mtundu looked round. The rocks were bare. A shimmering haze rose from them, nothing more.

“There’s nuttin’ there Shaha. It’s just the heat.”

She wasn’t listening, she was staring. “I’m sure there was something.”

“You know this ‘presentation’ thing: where you presented?”

“Me?” Shaha’s weary eyes brightened. “No Mtundu I wasn’t. My brother was, as a cub. My father too of course.”

“Not you? Why?”

“I wasn’t going to be king was I? I’m a female, they don’t present lionesses.”

“Maybe they should…. So you had a brother? What happened? Was he king?”

“He grew up. He left; he wanted to find his own pride.”

She looked north, to the distant mountains. “Out there. He never saw what happened here.” They looked together.

“Nengwe came from there. Do you think..?”

“Who knows Mtundu? Not I. There’s not much of him in Nengwalamwe that much I do know. Look, I’m tired. I think Falana might want to go hunting later. I need to get some sleep. How about you get off to see how Nengwalamwe’s doing?” She laid her head on her forepaws. Mtundu nodded. She smiled back, “Best leave the stick here; it’ll be here when you need it.”

“What, this old stick?” He grasped it, and lifted it awkwardly. It felt light; the wood dry and age-smoothed. He dropped it, and tried again, this time catching hold near one end. Its weight twisted his wrist painfully. He let go. He finally grabbed with both hands, lifting it above his head.

“Yes that ‘old stick’. It’s yours now.”

“Yeah sure it’s mine, but I dunno wh’use it’ll be.”

“You’ll think of something. Look I need to talk to Nengwalamwe, but not now. Tomorrow mid-morning will do, until then I’d better look after it for you.”

“Yeah, OK. Mid-morning it is.” He put it down carefully beside the rock, where it had lain earlier.

Shaha watched Mtundu as he scampered off. The afternoon sun caught him casting a long shadow reminiscent to Shaha of days long ago, days when she still used to laugh.

She settled down to sleep again. Before she fell under she saw the summit of the distant rock move again. This time she saw that it had a delicately spotted coat. “Fentayli,” Shaha said recognising the leopardess. “What are you up to?” She watched as the leopardess slipped down off the rocks and into the grasses after Mtundu. “Fentayli, I hope for their sakes that your cubs are old enough to fend for themselves… not that Falana’s were; and young enough not to know who you really are.”

***

When             Shaha had passed Fentayli leapt nimbly from the low bough of a baobab, landed among a tussock of grass and sniffed.  The night was still, with only zephyrs of wind stirring the grass before her.  Sniffing again, she stepped forward cautiously, eyes searching, and then pushed her way among the grasses, padding a few yards and then pausing to sniff and listen once more. Now and again the wind sighed among the grasses, the stalks waving and rippling in patches. Each time she paused, fearful, until it died down. She cast aside her fear and got to work.

She kept to cover, but was careful