The lion lay atop his termite hill, half-asleep in the heat of the Botswana noon. He was lazily aware of the goodness of the shade and of the smell of the lioness who lolled beside him, and of the annoyance of the tsetse flies. His empty belly was complaining, but the lion was accustomed to that; the pride would hunt that night. Game was plentiful and it would not be difficult to kill. He was profoundly contented, the unchallenged master of his world. He lifted his massive head and yawned, twitching away a persistent tsetse.