The lion, the king of the beasts, was admired by all the other animals because of his strength, speed, ferocity, and courage.
The lion's strength was legendary. His legs were as strong as spring steel and could propel him the length of an elephant's torso in a single leap. He could kill a man with one swipe of his gigantic paw. His jaws were such that they could tear sinew and crush bone as easily as the elegant giraffe could daintily nibble the tenderest of leaves, those found on the very highest branches.
His speed could only be matched by the swiftest of the zebras and the gazelles...the rest were helpless against his pursuit and found themselves mournfully elated in the deaths of friends and family members who were randomly chosen to vicariously sate the lion's hunger, if even temporarily.
The other animals marveled at his ferocity - he killed mercilessly, without malice or regret, and the great beasts, the rhinoceros and hippopotamus, were as much at risk of his fury as the muskrat or field mice who lived in the grasses of the plains.
But the lion, despite all his attributes and his standing in the hierarchy of the animal kingdom, admired the swallow. When the hunting was done and the pride fed, he would lay in the sunshine near the tree that stood in the clearing and watch the swallows for hours as they went about their business.
He admired their sleekness and their beauty. His eye was fascinated by their jet black feathers which winked green-blue at him when the sun caught them just right. He envied their grace, as they flitted from branch to branch and spread their wings to ride the currents of the wind, and travel, effortlessly traveling farther in an hour than he could in a day.
He wished to be as small and agile as they; it seemed like no place was too high, too far, or too small to deny them entry. He would look at his large, cumbersome paws as he fell asleep in the clearing, and each time he would dream that they became black and feathery and would allow him to soar amongst the clouds and travel to far-away lands.
One day, as he was laying in his accustomed place watching the swallows, one, paying him no mind, came close to him. He laid very still and watched her, mesmerized by her delicate bone structure - appreciating it as only one who hunted and ate such things could.
He froze his muscles in place and made his breathing shallow enough that it did not disturb even the tiniest of blades of grass which rested against his massive snout, a method practiced by the lion to neither alarm or disturb a potential prey.
The ploy worked, because soon she was next to the massive killer, but was either unaware or unconcerned of the beast's instincts, because she felt he meant her no harm. He was warm, his coat was filled with seeds on which she could feed , and she felt safe and secure near his strength.
Feeling safe, warm, and comfortable, she began to sing, and when the lion heard the music, it touched his heart, and he, too, added his own bass, melodic, purr to her song. Harmonizing together, the notes of their sweet song grew closer, as did they, and they soon became fast friends.
After that, the lion visited the clearing every day, spending every available moment laying in the sunshine near the tree, to be close to his new friend. He would revel in her company; her delicate closeness, the way she preened his coat, and the music they would make together, joining their voices in melodious harmony.
Shortly thereafter, feeling very comfortable with his new friend, the lion made a terrible mistake. Still fascinated by the swallow's sleek, black plumage, he reached out his paw, wanting only to touch her feathers, to feel her downy softness.
Her shrill cry of pain shattered the calmness of the clearing, and pierced the lion to his very soul as he surveyed, in horror, the damaged, disjointed, broken wing that his selfishness had caused. He realized, immediately, the pain she felt and recoiled at the thought that he had left his dear friend not only wounded, but insecure in her defenseless state, and untrusting of his strength and loyalty.
Understanding the situation the way only a true predator could, he gently nuzzled and cajoled the swallow's broken body to the bush at the base of the tree, where she could feed on it's berries and seeds, and be protected from the elements by it's leafy covering. He refused to leave his friend's side, and when the jackals and other scavengers came near at the news of a broken, helpless bird, he would impose himself between them, and not even a jackal would chance it's life for the meager meal a swallow would provide.
However, as the days passed, the lion began to grow weak, because he refused to leave the clearing and his friend, even to hunt - and soon, even the mice in the field learned not to enter the clearing, because doing so would mean certain death in the jaws of the king of beasts.
Eventually, the broken-hearted lion grew so weak that it was impossible for him to hunt. The swallow tried to raise his spirits by singing to him, and he would join his voice to hers, but that, too, succumbed to the paralysis of his once magnificent, now under-nourished body. She even tried to tend to her faithful friend, but the berries and seeds she provided him were not enough to sustain him.
Then, one day, laying in the mid-day winter's sun, he ceased to exist. The sky wept at his passing that night, as the swallows, grateful for his faithfulness, sang the dirge reserved for their comrades who would never, again, ride the wind on their ebony wings.
The swallow lived her days unaccosted, but lonely, on the lower branches of the bush, because even the scavengers - those who prey on the helpless - understood and respected the purpose of the lion's courage and faith.
Because, you see, courage, by definition, is an act of the heart, and the lion had demonstrated the true nature of a kingly heart by his actions toward his beautiful, but helpless, friend.
