The lion was getting old. His sight was failing. His teeth were blunt. His speed and strength seemed to lessen by the day. He had ruled the forest for many years, but for the first time he began to fear a challenge to his authority and the idea maddened him.

Bitter and angry, the lion set off to hunt, but when he caught his prey he did not stop to eat. He left the bodies where they fell and instead pursued the scavengers and killed them too. And with each kill, each splash of hot blood, the strength returned to his aching muscles.

Panic spread among the animals. Some went to ground, some fled in anguished herds, others stayed and lamented the loss of their kin, not caring whether the marauding lion found them or not. Eventually, the lion grew tired of the rampage and returned to his lair to sleep.

The animals emerged from hiding and gathered to discuss the crisis. No one was safe, they agreed. If the killing continued, life in the forest would become intolerable and they would either have to leave or learn to live in constant fear. They did not want either.

The next day they went to lion and made an offer of submission. They pledged to provide for his needs as he saw fit. The offer pleased the lion and, in the spirit of compromise, he demanded only modest tribute—secretly relieved he’d no longer have to exert himself for his meals.

But the animals were now burdened with the task of selecting which among them would be sacrificed for the Lion’s needs. Each species had to take its turn, they decided, and though they knew the lion might have hunted them down in the wild, it didn’t make it the choice any easier.

As the first victims said their solemn farewells, two hares stepped forward and offered to go in their place. The other animals were surprised. “You understand you are going to die?” they said. “You cannot run.” “We understand,” the hares replied. But the hares had a plan.

They waited until the appointed hour had passed. Then they dashed around until they were out of breath and scratched each other until blood trickled from temple to throat and then, finally, bearing all the signs of an attack, the first of them presented itself to the lion.

The lion spluttered with rage. How dare they keep him waiting! How dare they offer him one skinny hare! It was insult, a mockery, and if it happened again they would suffer destruction the like of which had never been seen. The forest would be a wailing, quivering sea of blood.

The hare cowered before him and explained that she and her brothers had set off in good time to offer themselves as the lion’s first tribute, but they had been attacked on the way, attacked by another lion, young and arrogant, who had claimed the forest as his own.

The lion scratched the ground pensively while the hare related how they had tried to escape the upstart, how they had warned him not to touch them as they belonged to another lion, but the upstart had just laughed and declared he would deal with the lion when the time came.

Her brother chose that moment to limp from the undergrowth. “You’re alive! You escaped!” his sister cried, feigning relief. “I hid and waited until he gave up,” he replied. “If you go now,” he continued, turning to the lion. “You can catch him unawares. He is sleeping.”

“The fool!” the lion exclaimed. “Show me where he is and I will spare the both you. This upstart will be my dinner for a week.” The hare led the lion to an old well in a clearing. “Let me go first and check he’s there,” he proposed. “But you must be ready to strike at once.”

The hare sprang onto the wall, glanced down, and nodded back at the lion, who immediately leapt into the well. For a split second, he saw another lion staring up at him and he thought how old and tired that lion looked. Then he plunged to his death in the cold, clear water.

“Yes, he was a fool,” said the hare. “He fought himself and lost.”

© Richard Parkin, 2022