The Lion and the Mouse

It was a warm afternoon on the great yellow plain. The sun stood high in the sky and made the grass shimmer like gold. Far away, the hills shaded into blue in the heat, and a lone acacia tree stood like a green umbrella in the middle of the light. Under that tree, in the coolest shade, lay a great and strong lion. His name was Leo, and he was the king there. His mane was thick and golden, his paws were as big as plates, and his breath came slow and deep. He slept. The bees hummed. The grass rustled a little. The world was quiet, and Leo dreamed of cool streams and long, lazy days.

In the grass, a little way off, ran a small mouse. His name was Milo. He had soft grey fur, small round ears, a nose that always trembled, and a long thin tail that followed him like a piece of string. Milo was very busy. He was looking for tiny seeds, tiny pieces of fruit, and anything else he could carry home to his burrow under a stone. He ran forward. He ran back. He stopped and sniffed. He ran on again. To Milo, the plain was an enormous land of tall yellow stalks, as big as the sea is to a fish. And just as he hopped across a soft, yellow, warm hill, he did not think for a moment about where he was putting his feet.

The warm hill was not a hill. The warm hill was a lion's paw. Milo hopped over it and up onto something big, soft, and golden. It smelled of an animal. It moved slowly up and down. And right at the front, he suddenly saw two great closed eyes, a black nose, and a mouth where two white teeth peeked out. Milo stopped short, right on the lion's nose. He had run straight across Leo's face. He stood completely still. His heart beat so fast it almost rustled. And beneath his tiny feet, the lion's brows began to twitch. A growl, deep as far-off thunder, rose in Leo's chest.