DINNER WITH THE ROYALS

With graceful power the lioness loped after the impala, punching the acceleration as she picked out the weakest and zoomed in to pounce, clawing at its side to hobble it before bringing it down and breaking its neck.

Rising from the kill, she waited until he arrived. She had to warn off the younger females a couple of times.

Eventually Berko arrived … at what could only be described as a dawdling pace. He glowered at the tawny youngsters before approaching the dusky huntress. They backed away a little, circling not quite to his rear – he hated that – but to his right flank.

Moving to his left was inviting a mauling. The last challenger had ended up a defeated mess, but not before he had blinded Berko in his left eye. He was very wary about anything coming up on that side and would instinctively attack, rather than take chances.

That’s an unusual kill, he said in the way of lions.

Nala merely stood her ground over the carcase and watched him approach.

It was almost like a cheetah, he commented, stopping some three feet away from her nose and plumping himself down to eye the magnificent creature.

Muscles flowed as she lowered herself to his level. Her younger sisters did the same, careful to stay on his sighted flank, and far enough away not to intrude upon this ceremony.

DINNER WITH THE ROYALS

Have you Nubian blood, my princess? he asked; then shook his mane.

She swivelled her head to watch the setting sun. Her grunt was almost like an exasperated sigh.

You carry yourself like a high-born, he commented; then stretched into a mighty yawn.

The grunt had definite emphasis this time.

Where did you get your sleek dark coat, my lovely?

Eating zebras, she answered. If big cats can be flippant, then she was.

He growled, and made to continue, but Nala interrupted.

Seriously, Berko, can we for once just start dinner without all this malarkey?

The younger lionesses stared fixedly into the distance until called to share.