Lioness Waits For Dinner

The best I could hope for was a lame or weak animal, limping along, not able to catch up with their tribe. My cubs are hungry, and they like fresh blood meat. A young antelope or gazelle would be perfect! As I glance through the African grasses, I consider different scenarios. The old ones often fall behind, but their tummies are not tasty. There is more gristle, sinew, and splintery bone than meat. The last time I brought home an old one, we could barely gnaw through. A herd of kudu came leaping through, graceful, confident. Hunting a young healthy one would certainly spook the pack They might invariably change their feeding path after a fear like that. I lick my lips, waiting for young ones, but maybe they are unborn. The hyenas came past my grasses next with noises that infuriate me; “Supper?” my bravest cub asks me, hopefully. Soon, I say with yellow eyes. I am proud that my hunting prowess has kept them alive so far, My cubs and I sit down to wait, not as patient as we were at day’s beginning.