Pinned by a javelin
And left to die
She briefly faltered
But did not cry

Her fangs bared
As she stood from the mud
Her fur matted
And caked with blood

Her sister took hold
Of the thing in her wound gaping
And withdrew the javelin
Anticipation waking

Silently they tread now
Ears alert and eyes bright
Sleeping in the day
And hunting at night

She, the Sister of kindred bonds,
She, the Huntress of tides
She, the Mother who bears life,
Shea Lioness of the Pride.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Naturalis, in the year 470 AD.