He stopped. He knew that a compassionate husband left home, but a different husband would return if he could abandon that creature to a slow death. He may look the same as the old Busara, but inside he would be more cynical and less caring. He did not like the person he was in danger of becoming.

Against his common sense, he turned back. “I’m going to regret this.”

She greeted his arrival with a snarl that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Go away! Buzz off, ape!”

He stared at the shoulder. Clearly, she could not walk well, if at all.

“I said beat it! You think you can throw sticks and stones at me? You think you’re really funny?? I’ll make you laugh till you beg death to release you!”

Busara just stood there staring, tears in his eyes and his chin beginning to quiver. Despite her spirit, she was obviously afraid and in deep anguish. He took a gourd from his staff. “There is an artery just under the skin on my throat,” he said calmly, drawing a line with his finger. “If you rake me there, I will die in two minutes, maybe three and you won’t have to die alone.”

The lioness was surprised by his answer. “You’re very brave--or very stupid.”

Busara reached in the gourd and took some moistened herbs. “Lie still.” He started to put the herbs on the wound when a paw swept out and struck his hand. Busara moaned and clutched his bleeding hand. No doubt she expected him to run. Her expression changed from anger to surprise.

Without unkind words he gathered up the scattered herbs from the grass. Setting the example by putting a small dose on his own hand, he said, “I mean you no harm. A little more still, if you please.”

Patiently, but trembling, he reached toward the wound. “This won’t hurt a bit--I promise.”