Changes?

The heat of the day recedes, giving way to the night cold creeping into the air. The wind, which died down at sunset, gathers strength again, carrying with it storm clouds that had been absent for a couple of days. In the distance, rolls of thunder rumble; the storm will surely come tonight.

A pity I can't fully enjoy the cool. Over these few dry days during the rainy season the air barely dries out, the evaporation only makes breathing harder, and my mane stays damp and gets in the way when I move. I stop to rest a little, turn around and go back, not really knowing why. I keep going over the striking events of recent days. There are not many pleasant memories.

Two weeks ago a hunt went badly wrong: a zebra, which I had almost caught, slipped away, kicking me in the belly with its hoof. The sharp pain did not last long, it soon faded, but the discomfort remained, and I had no strength to hunt. I had to go hungry for a day, then, thanks to the vultures, I found the carcass of a dead wildebeest. There were no marks on the body pointing to the cause of death, and the griffon vultures and their kin had managed to do their work. I ate well then, the meat was a bit strange, but then wildebeest crossed my path very rarely anyway — too big for me. But there was no time for reflection then, and the hyenas soon showed up anyway and I had to leave them the carcass.

Everything would have been fine, but by the evening of that same day my belly began to ache badly in the spot where I took the blow from the zebra. The dull ache was deep, though it eased now and then. I thought I would not survive that night. I cursed the zebra then, and the wildebeest, and myself. I tried chewing the grass that usually helped with food troubles, and it did not help. I don't know how I lived through the next day, but toward its end the pain began to subside and by night it had almost vanished. But I won't forget this for a long time.

After this I went hungry for several days, I was afraid to hunt, but I had to survive. Then, or so I thought, fate smiled on me and I managed to catch an impala calf; I made quick work of the young meat and bones before stronger rivals could show up. And again I had no luck — a young bone snapped in my mouth and a splinter lodged between my teeth. I growled, as always, low and vicious, though it barely carried. The splinter hurt less than the belly had, I tried to get it out every way I could, and in the end I did manage to extract it, without injuring my tongue too much. The next few times I ate warily, I almost lost my appetite, but it hasn't happened again since, which is good.

Recalling these moments, I stopped, turned around and continued on my way in the opposite direction, and in the end came back to where I had been. Now I stopped and turned around again, retracing my steps. A bad habit, left over from a past life in captivity, which I had not noticed in myself for a long time. There are no bars here and I can wander wherever the path leads, and still I go in circles, even though I cover far more ground than my old enclosure ever held. And why is this happening now? Freedom is here, and yet the feeling that something is missing sometimes grows especially strong. It seems I now have everything I wished for, yet there is no peace, which is strange — as is the fact that I still have the strength to hunt.

To the left in the savanna it suddenly grew lighter, but dawn could not be coming — there was still a little light in the west from the sun, which hadn't yet sunk far. I turn my head toward the source of light, squint at the bright glow and, as I make out two small bright suns set a short distance apart and growing in size with every moment, a cold fear shackles my whole body. I hadn't felt anything this strong even four days ago, when, a couple of leaps from me, lightning struck the ground, deafening me with thunder. And now I would be able to hear the most unpleasant sound coming from the two lights, were it not for the hurricane wind howling all around.

People. They are always there in those moving machines, machines I've had close run-ins with more than once. And they are moving in my direction; nothing good comes of meeting them. Only one thing to do now — run and hide, forget everything else. I run with all my strength — the damp mane dragging at me, the wind nearly knocking me off my paws. After some time the lights disappear; having run as far as the shrubs, I turn around and see that the lights are already moving away from me, lighting the land to the southwest. I drop down beneath the branches of the shrub to catch my breath and calm down. For some reason it suddenly strikes me that, more than a month ago, I had been expecting changes in my life. What's left is to work out whether they've already come, or are still to come.