Member-only story
Don’t Poke the Sleeping Lion
Here’s whimsy by another name…
The greatest rite of passage for the girls of Ursa was to try their hands at taming the beasts of the plains. Mothers would start as early as the age of three to bring their daughters to all manner of creature, no matter how big or small.
Freya remembered the first time Mother took her and her sister Mara to the plains. A dusty wind tried to catch their skirts, each gust like a playful hand in a game of tag. Mara would giggle, and Freya would try to stifle her smile — until their eyes grew wide upon seeing the great beast before them.
“Go on,” Mother said, tugging gently at Freya’s hand, “make sure to greet him.”
The lion was massive, its head as big as Freya and Mara’s small bodies, and he watched them with golden eyes that seemed far too knowing for something inhuman. Then the beast’s mouth opened in a long, drawn-out yawn, and Freya yelped, hiding behind Mother’s skirt.
Mara, however, was the brave one as she held out her hand for the lion to sniff. He just stared at her with an unblinking gaze before turning his head away, as if he were simply dismissing her like a king at a radiant court in a kingdom far away.
Oh, Freya thought, disappointed, I wish I were more like Mara.
