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As my grandpaw tells it, he was out exploring on a chilly December night. Snowfall covered all the familiar landmarks, and he was much further from home than he had realized. Without knowing it, he had crossed a frozen lake that would normally be impassable. Spotting what looked like a cluster of trees in the distance, he lowered his head against the wind and trudged toward it, hoping to find shelter from the weather. As he came closer, he saw that it was a small jungle, sitting atop an island buried in the snow. Seeking higher ground, he skirted the edge of the jungle until he came to the high side of the island, a stone cliff overlooking the frozen lake beyond. As he scanned the terrain, movement caught his eye, and he snapped to attention. Standing out against the snow, a pale white horse faced resolutely into the wind. It seemed as though it was watching for something, or someone. My grandpaw, being very cold, very hungry, and very far from home, made short work of it, and was soon wolfing down the meat before it had a chance to get cold. As he ate, however, he was startled to see a little head peeking out from an indent in the snow where the horse had been standing. Bounding over, he reached in with one paw and scooped out a cub, small, dirty, and shivering. Carrying it back to the horse, he tucked it into his warmth and tried to groom it as its mother would, to bring its body up to temperature. Exhausted and scared, it soon buried itself in his mane and went to sleep. My grandpaw must have been hungry enough to eat a horse, because he took care of the carcass and spent the night huddled in its pelt, thick with winter fur. He awoke the next morning surprised to find the cub still alive, but happy it was so. He realized the horse must have been protecting the cub, so he carried its pelt home and promised to honor it. That cub was me, and I still wear the mane of that horse. I know that without it, I never would have survived.
I grew quickly, playing and tussling with the other cubs. My grandpaw and his sister took me in and taught me how to be a lion. He gave me a home, and she gave me a name: Adaíre. I learned to chase, to pounce, to hunt, to climb, to fight. When I was old enough, I trained and hunted with the lionesses. I loved providing for our pride, and I was proud to be so loved by my grandpaw, our ruler. He always called me his little code word: snowball, but I wasn’t so little anymore. I was larger than nearly every lioness in our pride by age two. He always joked that my real parents must have been big eaters, because I certainly was.
One evening, he asked me to take a walk with him. Of course, I happily agreed. He moved slowly, leaning on my shoulder on the more uneven terrain, until we arrived at one of our favorite spots, a beautiful cliff overlooking the sunset. The light of the dying sun caused his wrinkles and scars to fade, and for a moment he looked as he once must have, young and fierce and full of courage and zeal for life. Then he began to speak, and his voice shook with age, often pausing for long periods to search for the right words, and I was reminded that what once was is no longer. We spent all that night reliving stories from his cubhood and mine, including the night he found me. I loved this sweet old lion, once ferocious but mellowed with age and love. As the first rays of dawn warmed our backs, he turned to me and cleared his throat, and I listened attentively. “I am so proud of you, little snowball. You have grown into quite the lion. It’s time I stepped down and you took your place as the leader you are meant to be. I know you will do great things. I trust you.” I blinked slowly. He hadn’t officially announced a successor, as he had no cubs of his own, but I had always assumed it would be me. He liked me best, after all. I knew each of his stories inside and out. I was strong, and brave, and clever, and everything a leader should be. The more I thought about it, the more ready I felt. We talked a bit more, about what it would mean for me, and then we made our way back home, as I once again supported him with my shoulder. The time had come, and I was ready to step up and lead.
A little time has passed now, and I am still coming to realize just how many burdens he had to carry that he never shared with anyone. Leading a pride is difficult, but so rewarding. When I watch cubs learning to pounce on twigs, or see a young male bringing a flower to his first crush, or witness the pride in a young lioness’ eyes as she brings home her first kill, I am so, so proud of being a lion. Of getting to lead this great pride, each of whom I love dearly. Of my grandpaw, who worked so hard to build all this. And especially of myself, for having come such a very long way from being a little cub shivering in the snow.
I have now spent about 78GB on her. Was it worth it? Hell yes. I love her <3
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