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  • And the woman child met me atop my lair, the 400 ft pinnacle of my death and birth. I warned her. I am experienced in unkind. She came anyway. A lovely girl, perhaps, underneath the musky perspiration and fear. She fanned her face and wiped her brow. Unwisely she’d masked cowardice in a film of ultra feminine bravado. The bright yellow sky tortured her brown skin.

    I laughed and asked, “Aren’t you afraid of falling? You fall, you die.” That was my second warning to the woman child who now spoke of her own man-child.

    “Big head, bouncy, little boy,” she explained in reserved, hopeless, somewhat false joy. “I live for him.” In vain, she inhaled the day’s scorching mountain air. I sighed. Surely her lungs were on fire.

    “I could never do that,” I said.

    I looked at her again. Perhaps this time I’d see something new. “Nope, still a slippery swamp gator on a lion's mountain.”

    “Huh?” she said. Surprising, since she’d introduced herself as a sophisticatedly southern belle.

    Disappointment crossed my eyes and brow. Instantly, she recognized a black heart and conniving soul.

    “I will fall, won’t I? You’ll push me?” Her panicked pitch annoyed nearby sleeping lions.

    “No,” I insisted.

    I leapt to smash her head. Hard blow to the left temple. The woman child fell from the 400 ft cliff where I’ve died and been reborn so many times I’ve completely lost count.

    If she’s strong, she’ll fly.

    If not, she’ll die.

    Either way, the cougar, The Lions' Goddess is much too old and far too experienced to cry.

    photo credit: cougar, mountain lion, wiki
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