By Cynthia Wilfert
“His mama left him.”
I fumbled to take off my reading glasses and blinked at my seven-year-old nephew, hoping the creature in his arms might turn out to be a puppy or barn cat. Alas, the round ears and dark spots peppering the buff-colored fur said otherwise. “Joey, where did you find a lion cub?”
The boy shrugged and refused to meet my gaze. “Out beyond the meadow… near the sea.”
I took a steadying breath. “Around the rocks, near the caves I said were off-limits?”
Joey’s lips twisted. “He was alone.”
He shifted his grip on the cub. The fur on the little lion’s back was a strange texture, oddly patterned. He sighed and nestled closer to Joey as I gently touched him.
My fingers told me what my eyes couldn’t distinguish. Feathers.
I plopped down on the carpet, stunned.
A winged lion.
Some old-timers in town recounted tales of winged lions in our area. Some thought they were angelic creatures. Others saw them as bad omens. But no one claimed to have actually encountered one.
“Aunt Nicole?” Joey frowned. “I know I wasn’t supposed to go out there. But I’m glad I did because he needs me.”
No contrition. Something else for our growing list to discuss with the child psychologist. Joey had been sullen and moody since Mother’s Day. I’d expected misbehavior. But I had not anticipated a mythical creature in my living room.
“I’ll call him Pip,” Joey declared.
“What? No. You can’t keep him. We have to put him back where you found him.”
“But he’s not big enough to take care of himself!”
The cub raised his head and peered with wide eyes.
I calmed my tone. “Mothers sometimes leave their babies while they hunt or gather food, but they come back.”
Joey scowled. “Not always.”
I winced. “Sometimes…” I shook my head. “Sometimes they can’t.”
His face scrunched, a tear escaping down his cheek. His arms tightened and squeezed the cub, who squeaked.
Joey gasped and loosened his grip.
I reached out to steady him and spoke softly. “But his mother probably will come back, and she’ll think he’s lost. Then how will she feel?”
“Afraid,” Joey admitted. “Mad, maybe.”
“Yes. And nobody wants to meet a mad, full-grown, winged lioness.”
Joey reluctantly followed me outside, still cradling the cub. I bundled them both into the passenger seat of my ATV, buckled Joey in, and took off as fast as I dared. The wings lifted off the cub’s back, fluttering in the breeze. Joey giggled.
I eyed the little lion warily, but the wings didn’t look large enough to support his weight yet.
The meadow was bright with wildflowers, abuzz with bees. I couldn’t appreciate it though, as my thoughts were racing faster than the ATV. What if the mother really didn’t come back? What would I do with a winged lion cub?
When we neared the sea, I parked a good distance from the caves. Joey trudged behind while I carried the cub. Saltwater played on the breeze as we hiked.
Halfway there, the cub began to squirm and make soft chuffing sounds. I put him down, and he scampered toward the rocks. Joey took off after him.
“Wait!” I called, giving chase.
Over the crashing of nearby waves, I thought I heard flapping wings. I caught up to the boy just as the wingbeat was drowned out by a roar.
A shadow crossed over us. I grabbed hold of Joey, sheltering him as a large figure swooped low over our heads with the speed of an eagle. I ducked, only daring to look up after I heard a thud and then padding footsteps several yards away.
The lioness stood tall, golden fur glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. My heart pounded as she shook out her immense wings, feathers rippling over powerful muscles. She folded them against her back as her gaze pierced me.
“Hold still,” I whispered to Joey.
She laid the bloody remains of a rabbit at her feet and watched as the cub hurried over to feed. She nosed at him and grunted. He answered with a playful little growl.
Apparently satisfied that he was well, the lioness focused on us again.
But as my eyes met hers, I felt no fear. An odd calm washed over me, along with the distinct impression that I had met a kindred spirit.
I slowly released Joey. “We mean no harm,” I said. “Joey only wanted to make sure your baby was cared for.”
She inclined her head as if she understood. A low rumbling noise started from her chest.
“She’s purring.” Joey’s eyes were wide with wonder.
I nodded, smiling as she nudged the cub. Motherhood was a beautiful thing.
The lioness leaned down, pulled off a bit of raw meat and tossed it our way.
I grimaced. Joey took a step forward, fascinated.
I grabbed him again. “That’s very kind,” I said to the lioness, “but I’ll take care of this one.”
She chuffed and bobbed her head. A simple but undeniable acknowledgment.
Joey and I watched the little lion finish his meal, and the lioness licked him clean before prodding him toward the caves. She cast us a final look over her shoulder as she followed him.
“That was amazing…” Joey murmured. He stared after them wistfully.
I nudged him. “C’mon. We’ve got an errand to run.”
“We do?”
“If we hustle, we can get to the animal shelter before it closes.”
Joey’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Pip will be a great name for a dog. Or a cat. Whatever you want.” I herded him back toward the ATV. “One condition.”
His big eyes blinked up at me.
“No wings.”
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