[NSW-Fic] Roll of the dice: A bit of humor from a humorless man

[machievelli]

The Roll of the Dice

 

The night held the city in its embrace. Below, the female guard could hear Lady Chantal’s party. She ignored it. She had the duty, and an Assassin of the Hand of Shad let nothing interrupt duty.

 

Dendera was like the others of her race, the Arani. Shorter than the local Takarnan, with deep almond eyes. A member of the Baktis clan, she also bore the mark of Shad, a five-pointed star with claw marks. Her teachers had taught her to consider every part of her body a weapon. She shook her head; her waist length coal black hair in long braids whirling so that the steel balls flashed. She could kill with a single touch, or, by whipping her head, crush a temple with her hair ornaments.

 

But what of love? She asked the silent observing stars. Most of her order married within it. The average man was understandably worried about marrying a woman who could kill him without compunction at a command. Even in the throes of lovemaking.

 

The watch commander arrived. Dendera joined with the other relieved sentries.

 

“Viperine!” One of the inner guards called. She hated that nickname. No worshipper of Shad enjoyed being called a snake. Even as a pet name. But the Maktor clan supplied the statesman and governors for the Empire. The Maktor clan worshipped Slithira, the goddess whose totem was the snake. A goddess that represented all of snake kind, especially the poisonous ones. The Maktor wanted the Hand to be small, so they forbid marriages among the guards at the embassies, such as this one. They even forbade assignations between the members of the consulate staff.

 

As if I want a snake-kissing bastard kissing me! But the Baktis worshiped Shad, the Mongoose. But left her few options. What could she do tonight beyond sleep? Go into the alien city? Have one of these pasty faced locals instead? She stretched, and bent touching the floor with the flats of her hands. First her exerc-

 

There was a pop, and a glowing blue ball appeared in mid air. Dendera was reacting even as she saw it, her twin swords leaping into her hands as the ball suddenly made up whatever it used as a mind and shot toward her, growing like a frightened puffer fish. It engulfed her. There was a louder pop, and the room was empty.

 

II

 

Asmod the Sorcerer really didn’t think it was his fault.

 

He would have admitted freely that if he had not changed the copper pieces to silver, he wouldn’t have been in the Kraken. Only a fool enters the worst inn with a flat purse.

 

He would have also admitted that if he had not tried to fill his cup using magic, the fountain that had sprayed the entire room and left an inch of wine on the floor would not have happened. All of his problems would never have happened if he had simply left when he had spent the money.

 

But blast all the Gods; the Arani woman wasn’t his fault!

It is true that he was a powerful mage. Perhaps one of the best alive today, but his magic tended to be fickle. But saying it was fickle was like saying you shouldn’t insert your arm in the tiger’s cage at feeding time.

 

His luck had happened into his life by pure chance, and being Perosi (Who held no gods) he couldn’t blame it on them. Instead he blamed it on Prikazi or bad luck. One night a few weeks before, he had been with the Duma, his tribe and had come to Takarna. He had become enamored of a dancing girl’s smile, and had believed that the smile promised so much more.

 

Her brothers had dissuaded him, assisted by her father, her husband, and (He still winced at the memory, a hand dropping to his crotch) the girl herself. They had dumped him unconscious and bleeding on the banks of the Darsa River.

 

When he awoke, he did what his people always did when plagued by bad luck. He reached into his pouch, grabbing the first coin he touched, and flung it over his left shoulder while calling for Bacht or good luck. However his misfortune was just beginning. The coin was the largest silver piece he had, and instead of falling flat and bouncing, it’s landed spinning on its edge.

The coin had begun to roll; sliding down toward the river, then fell into a hole beside an old stone altar even now being lapped by the water. Upon the stone had been carved the paired dice of Bacher, a god of luck that had slept for centuries. In the world where the Gods live, Bacher awoke for the first time in almost a millennium. Happy that someone remembered him in the world, he sent to the young man a gift.

 

Power in the world of men you gain

 

Power of type unknown

 

Walk the streets

 

Look time and again

 

The power you first see

 

Shall be your own.

 

While he might have heard the words, he was too drunk to remember. He had wandered in a daze, and just before dawn, he had seen a man flying across the moon, lightning blasting into the ground a distance away. There had been a magician’s duel that night, and the two warring idiots had razed half of the Moruthan quarter in the process.

 

When he awoke the next morning, he accidentally discovered that he had gained magical powers. Of course, if he had just lit the fire with a taper instead of trying to invoke a spell...

 

The Duma had banished him until he gained more control, leaving him stranded here.

 

Now, with no more money, the silver he had paid with turned back into copper. With the patrons angry, and having only two options, paying with what he didn’t have, and getting systematically beaten into a pulp, he had chose a third option.

 

Backing into a corner, he had pointed at the floor before him, and swiftly visualized one of the green gold and black snakes the Arani nobles carried around as pets. At the last moment he suddenly wondered if the snake would attack him, and made it his pet. He spoke the words that came to mind.

There was a flash, and a blue man sized ball appeared, then flashed away. In its place stood an Arani woman, two bare swords in her hands.

 

Dendera was shocked for a moment. One instant she was in her room, the next, she found herself facing half a dozen of the local Takkies armed with daggers and cudgels. With a shout she was at the ready, her blades whipping in the intricate pattern that made them a shield.

 

One of the men laughed then thrust with his stick to brush aside the illusion he thought her to be. There was a ringing sound, and he pulled back a hand span of what had been a three foot oak cudgel. The rest lay on the floor in four-inch sections, chopping into kindling as it fell through her defense.

The innkeeper leaped on the bar, “You Perosi freak! What have you done?”

Then she was stunned to hear a voice behind her. “Damn!”

 

As a trained assassin, she had learned to sense all around her. Never had that sense failed her. She threw herself against a wall, taking a quick look toward the voice. It was a short stout little man, with black hair, and a mustache and beard that looked like a garden in dire need of weeding.

In the land of the Gods, the other gods looked toward Bacher. He was laughing, the wine in his cup spilling across the dice on the table.

 

“Beloved!” She cried, leaping back out to keep him behind her as she again faced her enemy. “Stay behind me, I shall protect you!”

 

“Next time I take the beating. Or pay the money.” he moaned. “Even if it kills me!”

 

“Money?” These were not the words of love she had yearned for.

 

“Yes, money!” The huge man on the bar shouted. “For the wine he guzzled, and the clothes he ruined!” There was a rumble of assent, but no one was foolish enough to approach.

 

Dendera’s hands stopped, and she sheathed her left hand sword. She snatched out a small Arani gold coin. She flipped it toward the bartender and caught her beloved by his sleeve, sliding her arm through his. “Come, my beloved. Let us find a more accommodating establishment.”

 

Asmod stumbled along behind her. He had tried to pull free, but it was like tying to move a building. She was smaller than him, but damn she was strong! He was more worried what would happen when the spell wore off. “Listen, uh, what’s your name?”

 

She stopped, turning to look at him. The right hand sword disappeared like magic, and she backed him into the wall, molding herself against him in a way that would have brought a dead man back to life. “My name is Dendera, my love.” She whispered huskily, arms encircling his neck. “But you may call me what you wish.”

 

“Uh, right. I must thank you, Dendera-” She kissed him ardently, shutting off his explanation as she tried to press herself closer, which was patently impossible.

 

“Say it again my love!” She begged, raining kisses on his cheek, neck, and lips. “My name sings on your tongue when you speak it!”

 

He caught the hand that was tying to slide into his trousers. “I will if you will stop doing that!”

 

She sighed forlornly, stepping back, hanging her head. “I am sorry, my love. I will restrain my passions as long as I can.”

 

“What I want to know is why a spell that called for a snake, called you instead, Dendera.” He held up his hand to forestall another bout of heavy necking.

 

“What manner of snake did my love wish to call?” she asked.

 

“I think it’s call a Viperine?”

 

“Oh foolish love!” Before he could gainsay her, she had pressed him against the wall again. “Have you forgotten so soon? Those Maktor bastards at the embassy call me Viperine!”

 

He tried to tell her that he hadn’t even seen her until minutes before, but her hungry lips silenced every attempt. “Listen, Uh, Viperine-”

 

“Oh even that name glows when you speak it!” She hugged him, and began raining kissing on him. He tried to talk, but the kisses broke the roar into several whimpers.

 

“Damn. It. Will. You. Listen. To. Me?” Finally he had to take both of her wrists, holding her away from him with an iron grip. “Listen to me, Viperine. You don’t really love me. You didn’t even know me until you saw me. It was a spell I cast to escape! Do you understand?”

 

He expected revulsion, shock, even anger. But instead she dimpled, and lowered her head to lick one of his hands. “Foolishness, my love.” She broke his iron grip with ridiculous ease, wrapped her arms around his neck again, and went right back to kissing him. “I have loved you forever!”

 

“I give up.” he sighed. Hopefully this spell would fall apart as most of his did. “Listen my little snake.” She wriggled against him at the tone. “We must not be seen together here."

 

“Why not?” She asked. Her hand slipped inside his shirt, and he frantically tried to avoid the touch. “I want to make love to you in the marketplace at high noon! I want to shout my love for you from the tower of the Residency itself! I-”

 

“All right! We will do all of that. But not tonight!” He hissed. He had to get her away before the spell collapsed. “Meet me-” he thought swiftly, “Meet me at the docks in tomorrow night at this time.

 

She pouted, and then dimpled again. “As you wish my one and only love.” She kissed him then with a wave, ran toward the Embassy district.

 

Asmod straightened his clothes, and silently vowed that the one place he would not be was on the docks tomorrow night. He turned, and stopped as shadows surrounded him. Before he could speak, they knocked him unconscious.

 

 

III

 

Shadows moved slowly as the moon ran in her course. Among them, unmoving was a deeper shadow. Dendera. It was well past the time when her love should have been here, but she was still alone. She ran their conversation back through her mind lovingly, like a piece of silk through the fingers of her mind. He had said (Between her kisses she remembered, blushing furiously) that she was to meet him here. Perhaps he had forgotten.

 

She gave a heartfelt sigh. She would be terribly hurt if he had forgotten. But she would forgive him. She ran along the root headed toward the Embassy.

 

Suddenly she froze, her skills making her even less substantial than the shadows around her. Ahead on the ground, a lone figure walked as if the night belonged to her. It was a woman, but it wasn’t the woman who had alerted her. Rather it was the feel of the night. As if a score of giant spiders had spun their webs in the hours since she had passed. She saw a block and tackle with a rope dangling just ahead of her, and had reached the rope, snatching it as a dozen men erupted from the shadows, surrounding the woman.

 

Dendera kicked free of the wall, swinging down as the men taunted the woman. One of them shouted pointing, so that her feet caught a man not in the back of his head, but in his gaping mouth. She let go of the rope, tucking and rolling through the men, and leaped to her feet, both swords singing. A man screamed, clutching his opened stomach, as she stomped down, breaking the upper jaw of the man that she had kicked. She carved her way through the press, and four men were dead when she reached the woman’s side. A fifth died as a whistle sounded, and the survivors scrambled for cover.

 

Three large men were running down the street, and two of the unfortunates had run that way. They tried to fight, but it was terriers against mastiffs. One of the men started forward toward Dendera, but the woman she had saved stepped forward. “Hold.”

 

The man stopped, and his draw dropped as he bowed. “My lady!”

 

“She did your job, Guardsman.” She snapped. “One of those ‘accursed snake kissers’ did your job!”

 

“I apologize, Lady.” He looked at Dendera. “I apologize to you as well, Arani.” He seemed more uncomfortable with having to apologize to her than anything else.

 

“Accepted.” She bent, cleaning her swords on a body before sheathing them. “I was in the area, and have always hated kidnappers.” She sheathed the weapons with a click.

 

“Kidnappers?” The guardsman looked down in confusion.

 

“How many thieves own proof-marked swords?” She kicked the man before her, and the weapon worth a tenth its weight in gold fell from his hand. She nodded and turned.

 

“Wait, Arani.” The woman called.

 

She turned back. “I am Dendera. My clan is Baktis, my race Arani. Shall I call you Takkie?”

 

The woman flushed, but bowed her head. “I have been impolite to one that helped me. Please,” she motioned along her path, “walk with me a while.”

 

They walked, the men pacing silently ahead and behind as the women talked. They quickly became friends, and Dendera found that even the women of Takarna could have similar interests. Especially when it came to love.

 

“You have told me much about your lover,” the woman said as they came near the Processional Gate of the Governor’s Residency. “What name has this lucky man?”

 

“He’s called-” Dendera stopped, puzzled. “I forgot to ask him!” She wailed.

 

The woman looked to the heavens sighing. “I had hoped that I might help you find him. But without a name the Guard can do nothing. If you still wish to find him, but don’t know what his name is or where he might be, perhaps you should go to the Blacksmith’s shop at the south end of the marketplace.”

 

“Why? I have no need for metals.”

 

“The wife of the Blacksmith is a Perosi. She is said to be a seeress.” The woman explained.

 

“Yes! My lover is a Perosi!”

 

The Processional Gate opened, and a score of women and men dressed for sleep came out, surrounding them. “Lady Almira! We worried about you!” one of the young women cried.

 

Dendera looked at the woman. “Lady Almira? The Governor’s sister?”

 

“That is the burden I bear.” She sighed.

 

“Than I will leave you, Lady.”

 

“No, I am Almira to my friends, Dendera. Please, let me know how you do with finding your lover.”

 

IV

 

The next morning after assembly, Dendera hurried across the city to the marketplace. The Blacksmith was a huge man even by the standards of these people, fully half again Dendera’s height. He looked up as she entered the shop, thrusting the horseshoe he was forming back into the fire.

 

“I am looking for the seeress.” She told him. Silently the man pointed towards a curtain at the back of the shop, and turned back to his forge. Through the curtains was a snug room smelling of herbs and incense. Behind the table sat a young woman in voluminous robes of brightly colored silk that made her both older and fatter than she was. The woman motioned toward the stool opposite.

 

“I am Silimaki. What do you wish to know?”

 

“I am looking for the man I love. I met him night before last, and he never gave me his name. But I know he is a Perosi.” She saw a veil drop over the woman’s eyes, but continued. “I know that he frequents an Inn named the Kraken.”

 

“If you met him in the Kraken, you are lucky to be alive.” Silimaki replied dryly. “How did you know he was a Perosi?”

 

“The Innkeeper cursed him as such.”

 

There were only perhaps a dozen of her people in the city. Perhaps three were men young enough that this one had met them. Young Perosi men of that age had bad reputations, well deserved for cutting a swatch through the young women. The Seeress stood, and drew her cards from a box. “I am not sure what I will see for you.” She warned. With the ease of long practice, she shuffled the oversized cards, then had Dendera cut them. She laid them out. As she set each card down, she told what she saw.

 

Knight of winds, reversed. “He is a changeable man. Foolish clumsy; good for little, but personable.”

 

Sorcerer. “He holds great powers. He is a mage.”

 

The Scales of the Gods. “His power, in fact his very life is tied to an old God. A god of chance. His fortunes rise and fall by a roll of the dice.”

 

Below him fell the Lovers, reversed. For a long moment, she merely looked. “You have been caught in the net of a spell. While you love him, there is no love in his heart for you.”

 

“No!’ Dendera gasped. “You must be mistaken!”

 

“The power does not lie.”

 

The Simpleton reversed. “In the past, his clumsiness caused him to be linked to the God I mentioned. A poor fate for any man, but worse still for the Perosi.”

 

The Shattered Fortress. “He thinks now of the pain he will suffer.”

 

The Dark Angel. “He foresees his own death.”

 

The next line began with the Four of Fires. “He fears more than anything that this is his last day of life.”

 

The Priestess reversed. The seer stared at the card. “You cannot remain in the city. Why you leave is not present, but if you stay, you will die.”

 

“What do you mean?” Dendera was on her feet, sword in hand.

 

“Fear not Shakaris. You hunt those that deserve hunting. Even if you hunted my people, I would not speak it.”

 

“What does that mean? Shakaris?”

 

“It means Snake woman in my tongue. Attend.” The seeress tapped the tenth card, the Ten of Wheels. “Right now his hopes and yours are one. He hopes that someone will find him so that he can flee, and you seek him.”

The last card was the Queen of Flame. “His only chance of survival is you.”

“I must rescue him! Where?” Dendera found herself pleading.

 

“I have told you that he does not love you. Will you save him from death merely to kill him?”

 

“I don’t know. But if I am his only chance, I must find him.”

 

The seeress cleared the table, shuffling again. “Cut.” She flipped up the ten of Fires. “He is held, expecting pain and death, in the Rat’s Den. Follow your heart, it will guide you to him.”

 

Dendera flung coins on the table, and ran. The Seeress looked at the cards. There were two other questions that could have been asked. Who held him? She flipped up the Monarch of Fires, reversed. “Maluth.” She whispered. King of the Thieves. What of the woman that had just left?

 

Curious, she plucked the next card.

 

The Lovers.

 

Suddenly she began to laugh.

 

V

 

Several hours after dusk, Dendera hunkered down in an alley in the part of the city known as the Rat’s Den. The squalid area was unpatrolled at this time of night. The streets were a maze that could swallow a small army without the least indigestion. She had gathered every weapon she owned, and slipped across the guarded bridge. She had searched high and low through those streets, unnoticed by most of the denizens. The three that had noticed her would be found and dumped into the river later on, most likely.

 

Yet still there was no sign of her beloved. Heartsick, she came as close to tears as her training allowed, hands clenched in misery as she turned toward the bridge. “Oh, Shad!” She whispered. “Where can he be?” She froze at a scrabbling noise ahead of her. She snatched out a Deathflower, whipping it up, stopping herself at the last instant as a mongoose climbed up onto the garbage. Shad!

 

It hissed at her then turned, looking back over its shoulder at her. When she began to walk toward it, the mongoose scuttled forward into the darkness. She ran, following as it led her on a winding course. When she lost track of it, it hissed to get her attention. Finally it stopped near a small shack abutting a warehouse. At her feet, the mongoose growled, it’s hair and tail bristling.

She knelt, and stroked his head. “Thank you, My God.”

 

The Mongoose levitated its forequarters, resting its head on her knee. Then it turned and ran into the darkness. She moved forward, and as she wondered what type of diversion to make, the warehouse seemed to sigh, then collapsed into a pile of rubble. She ran forward, none of the noise she might have made noticed as someone inside the shack screamed.

 

“I said make all of the nails gold! Not make them disappear!” Before she could hear more, she heard the scrape of a shoe, and was spinning, gutting the man behind her with one swift cut.

 

He screamed, and she spun, her foot smashing into the door. The hinges and bolt (Stout steel, she mentally recorded) held. But the wood of the door was worm eaten, poorly matched and aged. The door shattered at hinges and bolt, and she stepped through as it crashed to the floor.

 

There were three men inside, one rising from a chair as she came in. That one turned to run, the others drawing knives to charge her. Dendera leaped, rolling between them, and tackled the running man. She dropped her left hand sword, grabbing his hair. “Call them off, or you’re dead!” She hissed and the razor sharp right hand blade tapped his throat for emphasis.

 

“Stop!” he gurgled in fear. The men stopped.

 

“I want the Perosi Mage.” She demanded.

 

“I don’t-” He froze, whimpering as the blade touched him, a spot of blood trickling.

 

“One more lie, and you die. Have him brought or you die by inches.”

 

The man nodded carefully. “Get Asmod.”

 

“But Maluth-”

 

“Get him!” Behind her, she could hear one of the Thieves leaving. She rolled up, and kept the Thief King at bay with her sword as they waited. The other thief looked up, snapping his fingers.

 

“Hey, Maluth! She has you, but we have him! It’s a standoff! I’ll yell out for them to cut off an ear say-”

 

“And she will hang Maluth to bleed after she guts him like a fish.” Dendera snapped. “Then she will count every drop of blood of my love that is spilt, and one thief, whore or beggar will die for each drop.” She looked toward the thief. “I swear it.”

 

“Bring him and don’t hurt him!” Maluth roared.

 

Dendera motioned with her empty hand toward the chair. “Have a seat.” She ducked down long enough to pick up the left hand sword, and sheathed it. She caught the handle of her garrote, and as Maluth sat, she spun the other handle through the air, catching it with the suddenly empty right hand. She jerked the bowstring tight. His eyes were fearful, but she could see the clockwork of his mind weighing, calculating.

 

“Hear me, King of Thieves,” She hissed. “The only chance you have of leaving this room alive is if Asmod and I leave it first.” She saw the fear deepen.

“You will.” He gasped around the taut wire. The time stretched until they both wanted to scream. Outside she could hear a shuffling, and the wire tightened slightly. Maluth’s eyes bulged. “Wait! They’re bringing him!”

She moved around him, facing the door. Two thieves were carrying a sack between them. Something was moving frantically inside it. “Put him down gently, and cut him loose.”

 

The bag was ripped open, and Asmod glared at the thief that cut his hands free. He ripped off his gag, and began cursing the man as the thief cut free his ankles. He shifted to Perosi, then to another language that Dendera didn’t recognize.

 

“Hold your tongue, beloved.” Dendera called, laughing. “We are not yet free.” She spun the wire from Maluth’s neck, wrapping it to pin his right arm instead. “All of you in here, now!”

 

Asmod looked at her. “Oh, its you.”

 

She tapped her sword hilt. “If you wish I can leave you here with your friends, my love.”

 

“Oh, no, no. That’s quite all right.”

 

“Step outside, watch for an ambush.” He bolted outside, and she turned to the four men in the room. “Strip.”

 

“What!”

 

“I said strip. All of you. Right now. Or you all die.”

 

Maluth opened his mouth, closed it with a snap, and began tearing off his clothes. The others scowled at her and each other before following suit.

Asmod had hoped to run, but a crowd had gathered. He ran back in. “The front is blocked-” he stopped, staring at the naked and embarrassed men. “Are we having fun?”

 

Dendera blushed. “Only with you, my beloved.”

 

“Listen-”

 

“We don’t have time. First we must escape.” She listened then went to a wall. The metal of her sword shrieked as she cut twice down, one across above her head, then kicked, the panel she had sliced free falling outside.

She waved Asmod through then snatched out a small ball wrapped in red paper. “I know you will try to follow, Maluth.” She crushed the ball in her hand, and tossed it onto the clothes. Suddenly they exploded in flame. “When you do, don’t show off your shortcomings.”

 

The mage ran like a hart in the woods, and Viperine stayed at his heels with difficulty. For an untrained, short-legged fat little man, he moved quickly. They crossed the bridge, and behind her she could hear the crowd coming after them. Maluth was screaming for their heads.

 

Asmod yelped, then dodged down an alley as two figures blocked their path. Dendera cut them both down, and followed. As she rounded the corner, she bumped into the mage. To their dismay, a solid wall of stone blocked the alleyway. She turned to go back, but someone was bending over the body, shouting.

 

She hurled a Deathflower, and he screamed, falling. “Do something Beloved!” She cried. “I will die before they capture you again!”

 

“But-”

 

“Please! You are a mage! Move the wall with your power!” She turned. There were a dozen of them out there, more gathering. Behind her she could hear a mumbling as Asmod cast his spell. If he didn’t hurry-

 

“Oh Damn!”

 

She looked behind her. He stood there, and the wall had vanished. “Magnificent!” He looked at her then pointed. There, hanging unsupported thirty feet in the air was the wall. She grabbed him, pulling him through where it had been as the crowd charged forward. “Well I did say just to move it.”

 

“But I was trying to knock it down!” He wailed.

 

“Drop it, my love.” She leaped in shock as there was a tremendous crash behind them. She spun to look. The wall had come down, the stones separating as it did. The stones had hit the ground, and shattered, the shards cutting down those lucky enough not to be under them. Under the wreckage was an amphorous mass of crushed bodies.

 

She stared then turned. “Must you take everything I say so literally-” She was alone. She sighed, casting about to find his trail and ran after him.

 

 

VI

 

Asmod ducked into the stable, and began saddling a horse. He had to escape this town. He didn’t know what was worse, an angry and vindictive thief king, or an amorous homicidal maniac. If he left now, he’d find somewhere safe. He stopped. Bridle. Where was the- “Asmod, my love? Are you in here?”

 

He turned, concentrating. He pictured a lion, fierce, full maned, rampaging. He muttered the spell of shape changing.

 

Dendera heard the muttering, and ran to the corner. As she rounded it, a tawny form streaked past her. She spun, and stared at the Lion. It was fierce looking, fully maned.

 

All of about a foot in length.

 

It snarled at her then stopped. It looked at her then at itself, and then in collapsed with a surprised look, meowing piteously. She saddled another horse, and gathered him up, scratching him behind the ear as she mounted, grabbing the reins of the other horse.

 

“My poor love.” She cuddled him to her bosom as the horse ran toward the gate, followed by the other. “First I must get you out of town. Then we can wander the world together. Regardless of whatever else happens in our lives, I will always be there for you, and love you with all my heart.”

 

She knew the Seeress was wrong. He did truly love her. Of course, coming from a society where snakes were pets, she admitted she didn’t know much about Lions or cats.

 

But didn’t they cover their eyes with their paws when they cried tears of joy?