The big chill

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He tried to make his movements economical, but the temperature was rising and soon bubbles of perspiration began to collect on his forehead and trickle down the bridge of his nose. Dracup coughed and spat. He’d had a few hours sleep and felt calmer. About the lion he worried the least. Never turn your back. The tree had been provided for shade and claw sharpening. Flies busied themselves around the congealing blood. He moved his head gingerly. Dracup aimed a kick as the lion launched itself into the air, saw the grenade spin off The big chill end of his foot and spiral away towards the pitwall. The boy’s turban was white, contrasting with the big chill dusky skin. Her only chance was to stall the execution of his decision. The big chill if it held his weight he didn’t have a hope of reaching it. Dracup kept one eye on the lion as he waited for a response. There’s something in his hand. But the other attachments… His blood froze and he flattened himself against the uneven tuff, all thoughts of movement abandoned. He thought of his hotel room with its solitary suitcase.