Prologue
Before, there was only darkness. I couldn't see my own hands in front of my face. I felt like I would never be happy again, like I was surrounded by Dementors. I wept and wept and cried even when I had run out of tears. I couldn't see, I couldn't feel. I'd lie in bed all day and never even consider getting up, drawing the curtains. A veil was covering the world, shielding the harshness of the world, the kindness of my friends and our mutual grief. But I didn't reach out and feel them, I closed off. He was gone and there was no way back. No way back to the happiness I had known, there was no way back to me.
But then hope came. In my little lion. I found him. I found him and he was like a brilliant light; he shone so brightly; cutting through the darkness, piercing my sorrow and opening the world up again. He was just a babe, a tiny cub, so small and fragile. I had to help him, I had to nurture and protect him. Little did I know that he'd grow to help me, heal and protect me.
The playful cub scampered around my slow and weary limbs, he winked at me and tugged at his trouser legs. Tumbling through our…through my apartment, knocking over side tables and skidding across the kitchen floor; he'd paw at me for food, attention, food, to be let outside and more food. He ran and jumped and reminded me of life. And as he grew, so did my assurance that there could be life anew.
He's so strong and powerful, and proud. Through a method I'll never quite work out he manages to get into my cupboards and cover his nose in ink, splattering it everywhere; he sits patiently under my desk and purrs to himself as I rub his back with my feet. He manipulates his expressive face to make me laugh when the entire world weighs down on me. When I feel tears pinching behind my eyes in the middle of the night he'll uncurl himself from his massive basket in the corner, rest his golden chin on the bed in front of my face and rumble softly.
He is everything. I can't let him go, not for anything, for anyone. He makes me feel safe. No matter where we are, no matter who's there, no matter…anything.
And best of all, when I hold his great head in my arms, close my eyes and breathe in deeply; and when I stroke his thick, red hair, feeling the coarseness and warmth of it, I can sense him. He's with me.
The mane smells of him.