They approached the stone slab and stood in front of the supine lioness, who looked at them, the teats of her swollen breasts dripping with milk. She said — without speaking — what are you waiting for? For them to explode? For these breasts to explode? The pain of swollen breasts is no trivial matter. Either milk them or drink straight from them. Drink or milk them, my sons, I am that same mother lioness. Come closer to me and kneel before they explode, these breasts, and their milk is turned into blood. Come and drink, my sons. You are like my own twin cubs, who in just twelve days have aged twenty years. Drink, drink, drink, my children. Drink before the clouds rise once more to roar and rain black fire from the sky! But …
‘They’re rising. They’re rising again!’