The girl—

  now no longer a girl,

  but a grown mother dog—

  ran through the dark forest,

  chasing the hyena.

  She remembered the sun that day—

  or perhaps the sun,

  from behind the earth,

  remembered her.

  She heard a childish bark—

  the voice of Little Lion,

  calling for his mother.

  She was his mother now.

  “My child,” she said in her heart,

  “Once, I had to flee to save you.

  But today,

  I must charge.”

  She felt her brother’s breath

  from the sky above.

  Her ancestors watched with pride.

  Her spirit had aligned with her body.

  She was no longer the yellow dog.

  She was a shard of the sun—

  sent to warm the earth,

  to burn the night.

  Now it was the hyena

  who had lost focus.

  For a moment, he felt fear—

  realizing that in hunting,

  he too might be hunted.

  He smelled the mother dog.

  He tried to cast away his fear.

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  He remembered the taste of fresh blood and meat,

  and it gave him strength.

  The silver moonlight that night

  was so bright,

  it revealed his jaws and teeth—

  offering a warning to his opponent,

  sowing the seed of dread.

  The mother dog saw every move he made.

  She reached him—

  leapt at his left side.

  The hyena also lunged—same side.

  She hit the ground,

  but gave no opening to his jaws.

  She spun—

  and stood.

  The two locked eyes.

  Their breaths beat as one.

  They began to circle,

  each keeping distance,

  forming an arena between them—

  as wide as the world.

  Above them,

  the cold moon lit the battleground.

  The hyena fixed his gaze

  on the weakest point—

  her pregnant belly.

  His eyes flashed—poisonous.

  But the hero of the night

  had thoughts of her own.

  Her eyes were locked

  on his paws.

  His claws.

  Both had learned the art of battle since youth.

  And now,

  the first attack began.

  They lunged.

  The mother dog’s claw

  scraped across the hyena’s eye.

  The first strike.

  The first blood

  The hyena felt a spark of joy.

  He thought—mistakenly—

  that his opponent feared to come close.

  But he was wrong.

  The mother dog knew:

  to win,

  you must risk.

  In war,

  you must give of your life.

  Sometimes,

  you bait the trap

  to catch the prey.

  So she didn’t keep her distance.

  She closed it.

  Narrowed the space between them.

  Then, she shut her eyes—

  for a moment—

  and turned off the sound of the forest.

  When she opened them again,

  they saw only the hyena.

  The world had become

  the stage of these two.

  Good and evil.

  Hunter and hunted.

  And nothing else.

  Would paradise hold its place?

  Or would a cold hell

  be born in its stead