Lillian is a young female, rescued in the African bush from poachers by those that work to protect the precious animals of Africa.

Her eyes gleam with wild animal fervor as we approach.

We are told how to approach, stroking the tail, under the chin, scratching the belly like a beloved household dog. The tenuous muscles underneath the fur twitch at our touch. The breathing strong and steady.

Wild in the truest sense of the word, yet she is also loving and playful. Lillian licks my bald head and my hand with her coarse tongue. I shudder with delight.

We go walking through the bush. The cheetah’s stop and prick up their ears as they hear something beyond the grove of nearby trees. Their instincts are pure, and we have to hold onto them tightly so they don’t give in to the urge to run off and explore, hunt….kill.

Their is nothing quite like the feeling of holding onto a creature in which you know you have no control over, letting go your fear and trusting in the pure animal instinct.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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