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    The Story of an Ordinary Lion
    The Story of an Ordinary Lion
    The Story of an Ordinary Lion
    Ebook69 pages1 hour

    The Story of an Ordinary Lion

    By Janet Doolaege

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    About this ebook

    Can a desert lion become the faithful companion of a man? Leo, a rather dreamy lion, meets Father Jerome and finds that he can. He can also be a hero. But people, even those who work as translators, can’t understand the language of lions. When Rebecca, the donkey, disappears, Leo is punished. How can he prove his innocence? This reworking of an old legend is intended for children aged 8-12.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJanet Doolaege
    Release dateAug 11, 2013
    ISBN9781301774845
    The Story of an Ordinary Lion
    Author

    Janet Doolaege

    I grew up in England but now live in France, not too far from Paris, in a village on the edge of a forest. Our house contains more books than I will ever have time to read.

    Read more from Janet Doolaege

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      Book preview

      The Story of an Ordinary Lion - Janet Doolaege

      THE STORY

      OF

      AN ORDINARY LION

      Janet Doolaege

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2013 by Janet Doolaege

      All Rights Reserved.

      Table of Contents

      The Story of an Ordinary Lion

      About the author

      Other books by this author

      The Story of an Ordinary Lion

      I am just an ordinary lion, with teeth, a mane and a tail. I can roar. I always liked a haunch of good, fresh meat. I’m no different from most other lions. So why – I thought, as I crouched on the roof of the monastery and looked up at the blazing stars – why am I here? How did all this come about?

      Some say the lion is the king of beasts. I didn’t feel at all like a king, with my shoulders rubbed raw by the harness they put on me every day, and my muscles weary with pulling the sledge And I didn’t feel proud. I still felt ashamed of what had happened to Rebecca. I had betrayed my trust – although I hadn’t eaten her. Why wouldn’t they believe that I hadn’t eaten her! On the contrary, I had grown quite fond of the silly donkey. But I should never have fallen asleep and dreamed… dreamed about the day when my whole world changed. And such a change it was…

      But we live in the present. It doesn’t do to dream too much.

      *****

      On that particular day, I was beginning to think that I would starve to death. I was out in the desert, lying under the shade of a thorn bush and at the same time cursing the bush because I had one of its thorns in my right forepaw. It had penetrated deep into the pad and was now giving me shooting pains up my leg. I could walk only on three legs, and I certainly couldn’t run. This meant that I couldn’t stalk any prey, and I had eaten nothing for more than twenty-four hours. I know, I know: it’s usually the lionesses that hunt, and I had a lioness once who was a good hunter. An excellent hunter. But she had gone off with another lion, and good luck to them both… Never mind that now. A lion has to eat. I was trying hard to pull the thorn out of my paw with my teeth, but lions’ teeth are not ideal for that kind of delicate work, and I was getting nowhere. The pain was growing worse and worse and I began to roar softly with sheer frustration.

      All at once, I thought I heard an answering roar. Oh, no! I thought. Don’t say some other lions are coming back to taunt me. I’m in no fit state to fight. I’ll try, though! Just let them come near me, and I’ll show them whether I’m beaten. I raised my head and looked around, but the desert stretched far away and nothing moved. Only rocks and thorn bushes cast long shadows as the sun was sinking. Who or what had made the noise?

      The roar came again, and then a great rushing sound like the wind, like an approaching sandstorm only louder, and then – shall I ever forget it? With my eyes half dazzled by the sun, I saw a great black shape bearing down on me from the sky. It grew larger and larger. It had wings, but it was much too big to be a bird. No eagle or vulture ever had a wingspan like that. I watched, incredulous, as it landed in a swirl of sand.

      It was a winged lion.

      That is to say, it looked like a lion, with a luxuriant black mane and a tufted tail, but from its shoulders grew a huge pair of feathered wings, tawny and gold above, purple and black underneath. It kept these spread for a moment, then folded them along its back, and the air grew still again.

      Greetings! it said, and its voice was a roar like a distant earthquake. Was this a lion or a monster or a nightmare?

      Well, I felt I had to reply. Greetings! I roared back, but my voice sounded much weaker than his. Who are you?

      My name is Leo Alatus, Winged Lion of St. Mark.

      Neither of us then spoke for a while. I was thinking hard.

      But, I said, But how can you be a lion? Lions don’t have wings.

      What proof have you of that assertion? he asked, quick as a flash.

      I – well, I haven’t any proof, but surely nobody has ever seen one.

      Absence of proof is not proof of absence, said Leo Alatus, pounding the sand with one paw at every word. "And your statement that no lions have wings is invalidated by the fact that standing here before you is one lion with wings. But all that is immaterial. I heard you roaring in the desert. Why are you in distress?" And his eyes, deep crimson in colour, glowed with the warmth of two setting suns.

      To tell the truth, he did not sound like an ordinary lion, who would probably have jeered at me or at least passed by without taking any notice of me. He sounded as if he wanted to help me. That much was undeniable. So I told him how hungry I was, and how I couldn’t run to catch any prey. I showed him my inflamed paw. He said nothing for a moment. Then he

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