The zoo was packed today and the exhibits were awash with families of tourists. Monkeys howled in their cages, donkeys bayed at the petting zoo. Penguins waddled. Preening dolphins pleased crowds with backflips.
But the lioness without her lion hid in the shadow of a desert tree. Elephants trumpeted and sea lions bellowed, but there was something missing. There were no roars. The lion had always drawn large crowds. The proud patriarch of the pride would stand tall on a rock and roar. People that milled around other habitats would find themselves wandering over, pressing their faces against the protective glass for a better look.
The lioness stared emptily at the humans with a loss that she couldn't understand. Her tail swished and swatted away flies. Hearing a sound in the brush, she turned quickly, but it was only one of the cubs. She got up, made the rounds along the edge of the habitat, right against the glass and got some oohs and ahhs, then made her way back to her spot. She laid there, head on her paws, in the same spot where her mate breathed his last breath before the people took him away. It still felt warm.
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