My lioness is a playful thing, really. I felt like a prey at first, while she dangled away and I watched her turn her back, only to turn back around and lunge at me. It was scary, the first time her claws pierced my skin, but then I played along and you know, blood only looks like blood if you’re not really watching.
The pain she deals isn’t really pain at all, not after she starts covering the wounds with kisses. What scares me the most isn’t really her power to destroy me, but the clean, disinfectant licks that follow. There’s something soothing about taking this break from any and all afflictions.
And then I stop being a prey. Thick tufts of fur break through my mind and I become something else entirely. After we tumble a few turns in the sand, completely oblivious to the machinations of the burning village you call society, I’m struck by an epiphany. We may just be an inch too happy for it to last.
She doesn’t really get affectionate before she claws me, but perhaps in time, she’ll learn. If there’s anything I know, it’s that whatever rules life has in store for you, they break and bend if you want something bad enough. Besides, I’m pretty sure you have to get a few scars if you want to earn love from such a deadly creature. It’s strength and endurance and a calm mind if you want a dance this sharp to end well.
But I’m coming along nicely. I get something so much better in return – my vision hollows, I feel free from whatever anchors choke me from a fading past. As she runs wild, I learn to trample and sprint and dart through dunes I’d normally be slowed down by. In the end, I have her pinned down and I dive deep into those leaf-shaped eyes and almost drown in the intoxicating howl of prevail.

Lioness prowling.