A Lady and A Cat

She awoke from a fitful sleep. The heat in her tent was oppressive, pressing down despite the late hour. From outside came a low rumbling sound, a noise that she neither liked nor recognized. Looking across the small space, she saw her uncle peacefully asleep with his back to her. The sound persisted and she swung her bare feet down off the cot onto the dirt.
With quiet care, she pulled on her tight canvas pants and tall leather boots. Not bothering to tuck in the white men’s shirt in which she had been sleeping. She picked up the double barrel rifle that lay at the foot of her uncle’s cot and broke open the action to make sure that it was loaded. Upon seeing the two cigar sized bullets in the breach, she closed the gun with a heavy metallic click. Her uncle stirred and repositioned himself but remained in a heavy drunken slumber. She undid the tent flap and brushed it aside before stepping out into the night. The fire had died to a few coals that threw weak orange light around the camp. Both of the other tents were still, all of the guides and porters being asleep.

Off to her left, the noise persisted. A deep throaty sound coming from just outside the thorn fence that surrounded their camp. Gripping the rifle in sweaty palms, she stood perfectly still. In the darkness beyond the tangle of branches, shadows shifted and flowed, betraying the presence of something just past the light’s feeble reach. The wraith moved at a deliberate pace. Never pausing long enough to afford her a definitive look as it circled the camp. Then, at a thin spot in the fence, the firelight caught an eye. It fixed upon her and was soon followed by another. She could see nothing else at first, just the two haunting orbs floating in inky darkness. The growl rolled out of the night again but this time in a quiet and sickeningly deliberate way. Fur and flesh joined eyes as the lion eased its head close to the hole and into the light. The face, somehow both utterly impassive and unrelentingly threatening, was blotted away as a paw so large it didn’t seem real filled the hole. Claws longer than her fingers reached through the opening and dug into the trunk of one of the bushes. The lion pulled, shaking the fence and causing it to flex. She gasp and took a step back, bringing the rifle in close to her chest. Again the lion pulled. This time leaning back to put its considerable weight into the effort, and once more, the fence flexed alarmingly but remained intact. The needle-like thorns dug into the lion’s paw, making it exhale angrily and snap its arm back to its chest. The eyes took her in for just a moment more before fading into the blackness. She could hear the heavy footsteps now. Steadily circling around her camp’s meager protection. Without moving from the rocky patch of ground on which she stood, she turned her head along the lion’s path. When she saw what lay only a few feet in front of it, her mouth went dry and he stomach flipped. The gate, not actually a gate but a single large thorn bush that could be moved about and tied back in place, was open.
She stared in disbelief, the bush still partially blocked the only entrance to their camp. However, a black fissure of night separated the gate from the wall, and both strands of the securing rope dangled free, terribly unconnected from one another. It surely had been neglected by one of the men during their whirlwind of drinking that evening.
The bush moved. Only a fraction at first but then in a steady swing. Its lower thorns digging shallow trenches in the earth. For what seemed an eternal moment she stood there paralyzed, watching as the gate slid aside at the bidding of the dark thing beyond. Thoughts and actions raced through her head. Scream and call for help was the one that held the most prominence. Followed closely by, fire the rifle into the darkness, empty both barrels in hopes of driving it away. However, she had only started shooting on this trip and was sure that under the pressure she would miss. A vision flashed in her mind, of stinking smoke curling out of the spent barrels, of still drunk men, half-clothed, spilling disorientedly into the night, and of the lion leaping amongst them, killing with ease during the ensuing chaos. The bush stopped moving, and there, filling the entryway almost completely, stood the lion. It strode forward confidently, not sniffing the air or looking around the minuscule thorn redoubt, but staring directly at her. She brought the rifle up, tucking the stock firmly into her shoulder as her uncle had shown her and rested her finger against the first of its two triggers. The barrels danced before her, bobbing and swaying with each of her almost panicked breaths. She forced herself to breathe in deeply and attempt to steady her nerves, panicking wouldn’t help anything. The lion lowered its head and dug its claws into the parched, dusty ground. She couldn’t remember ever being so afraid.
It charged and she braced, leaning forward to at least meet her fate head on. The lion halted. Not breaking eye contact, it tilted its head slightly as if puzzled. She looked back, wondering why she was not yet dead. Her own fear calmed a degree when she noticed that, while still menacing, the lion had taken on a more defensive stance. That’s when it hit her, this lion needed, counted on, even enjoyed, her being afraid. It was used to the world fleeing in terror and didn’t know what to do when something didn’t run. She un-hunched her shoulders and straighten her back, endeavoring to grow in its mind as it had once grown in hers. Then, summoning all her will, she made one bold move. She took a step forward.
It swiped its colossal paw through the air between them, fierce claws tearing at the night, and bared its curved yellow teeth. She stood her ground, not even flinching backward, though it took more strength than she knew she possessed. She took another step towards it. Fear replaced confusion in the lion’s eyes as it put down its paw and stepped back. She advanced again. Two steps this time, but in the same deliberate manner as before, lest she provoke it to pounce. The lion sheathed its lethal teeth and raised its head as it stepped back rapidly towards the gate. This was her moment. Triumph or death waited just ahead and she did not take that fact lightly, nor did she hesitate. Releasing the rifle’s foregrip but still holding the stock, she swung both of her arms in a wide arch and walked with bold strides forward. She growled and showed her own teeth while shaking her head. The lion’s eyes went wide and it spun then bolted out beyond the gate. She only caught a last flicker of its tail in the firelight before it vanished into the night.
Darting forward she grasp the gate’s rope and hauled the bush back into place, With trembling hands, she tied it shut. The knot was clumsy, and she feared that it would not hold. So to be sure she tied one more, then another, and then another. When the loose ends of the rope were exhausted, she snapped the rifle back up to her shoulder and sighted down its cold grey barrels. She backed away several paces, aim locked on the spot where she had last seen the lion, and waited.
Heart still pounding, the tension in her muscles drained, giving way to a flood of euphoria. The night was silent and still, returning to the peaceful place it had been only a few hours before when she fell asleep. Smiling in the dark, she laughed to herself and walked to the fire. She grabbed a long crooked stick and pushed the last scattered coals together before adding more fuel. Once flames leapt into the air again, she sat on the ground and cradled the rifle in her arms. The first waves of fatigue washed over her and weighed her down. However, she knew for certain that sleep would not find her again that night. Leaning back against a rotting stump one of the guides used as a chair, she squeezed the rifle again and gazed up into the countless gleaming stars.