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This is the story of a butterfly lion.
The cub was a strange one. A quiet cub who spent most of his time sitting still, watching the ground and the trees and showing very little interest in his fellow cubs. But he had bright eyes, a cheerful smile and when he spoke, he spoke from his heart.
The cub had grown a mane. One day, there was nothing but downy fur, and the next, an incongruously large, dark, tangled mass on his head, neck and shoulders. The then king went to investigate, and promptly keeled over, unconscious. He revived moments later, and, almost incoherent with laughter, informed his shocked pride members that the "mane" was composed of caterpillars.
The cub grew, and so did his "mane". The king was unperturbed, and so was the boy's mother. 'He's smart, he eats well and he keeps himself clean.' was all she had to say when she was asked if she was worried.
The adolescent was more outgoing than before, and despite his odd mane, the others enjoyed his company. His bristly companions made snuggling a little difficult, but that didn't matter, at least, not at the time.
When his real mane started to grow in the king took him for a walk. 'You have always been a fast learner, Kuungua Moyo. How soon can you learn to be king?' He held up a paw to forestall the young lion's protests. 'I'm dying. It won't be tomorrow, but I won't be here to see my newest litter. You have always been my choice for the heir.'
Kuungua Moyo worked hard. His ready smile remained, but the effort he put into it was obvious. His mane grew, and so did his "mane", cloud gray and red fur interspersed by pale cocoons and wriggling black forms. His pridemates lent him their support and small rainbow coloured wings could sometimes be seen peeking out from his mane.
The young lion lay still, barely breathing, his body sickened and weak from drinking bad water. His pridemates worried and his mother and the king sat by his side. The morning broke, and a flock of rainbow wings shimmered from his mane, surrounding the boy and fluttering around him. The mother and the king smiled at each other. He would be all right.
One morning, the king never woke up. He lay still and cold, as his pride mourned for him. But days passed and grief gave way to practicality. Kuungua Moyo was anointed king. The sword and protector of the pride. The Zulfiqr.
The bright eyed king roams his territory, watching over the lionesses and protecting the cubs. His land thrives, lush with greenery and fat with herd animals. And bright with butterflies.
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