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... and so it is written ...
The old cheetah had been pining over his loss for almost six months when out of the blue, as if orchestrated by The Great Mother herself, a strange course of events caused the cheetah to return to the edge of the jungle, adjacent to the grassy tributary. He let out one last blood curdling roar from the pit of his gut. He gave it everything he had. On receiving no reply, he retired exhausted and drained to his cave to pine some more. Sadly, it still caused him great lamentation that the young lioness would not return his call.
Almost three weeks had passed since his final call to the lioness and the cheetah had enjoyed hunting a number of cute, furry creatures. They were all very lovely and caused the cheetah much pleasure and happiness. Deep inside though, the cheetah missed the young lioness. There was a specialness he only experienced with the feisty young cat with the good markings.
The cheetah was completing a delicious feast of a black exotic creature when his ears pricked. The old cat thought he heard the lioness but soon concluded his imagination was playing tricks on him. He returned his attention to the little black treat that was his pleasure. Again his ears pricked. His head angled to the side to sweep an acoustic plane. This time he was sure, he heard her call.
The cheetah sprung up leaving the feast to any who strolled by. He ran as fast as his old legs would carry him to the tributary. But she was not there. He hunkered down on his belly, exhausted, disappointed, disheartened. The young lioness was not there. After he caught his breath and his panting slowed, in frustration he roared at the jungle for cruelly taunting him, such was his intensity. Then he heard it again.
He roared. She roared. He roared again. She roared again. There was the sharp snap of anger in her roar but she had returned his call. The cheetah felt the weight of ten years removed from his shoulders.
... and so it is written ...
The old cheetah and the young lioness met tentatively on the bank of the tributary that December morning. They circled each other slowly and growled from the depth of their lungs. But it was different to last time. This was a growl of reconciliation not of anger. It was a growl that had to be released and that soon gave way to much purring and nuzzling.
And so history was rewritten on that fateful, happy day during the Christmas of twenty-ten. Great acknowledgement and high regard always from the old cheetah to the trio of greatly revered hunters that helped him to keep the spirit alive during the saddest of times. Even eventually encouraging him to deliver that one last roar that made the jungle a happier place.
... and it was written, the young lioness with the good markings and ruffled mane and the old cheetah with the lightened heart were again seen together at the grassy bank of the tributary ...
To be continued ...