My sword falls to the ground. I look the lion before me in the eyes. They look human, just like mine.

“Citizens! Who will win? Place your bets!”

The announcer draws me from our connection, and I see the patrons standing in their seats, looking down at us. We’re nothing but meat to them; never were any more. I look up at them and see no connection. They are not my brothers, my sisters. You, though. You feel like you are.

I reach out a bloodied hand to your mane. You approach me slowly as the crowd begins to scream with anger. The announcer is screaming, too. They’re unhappy.

And then you open your jaws and bite my arm, drawing it from my shoulder. No warning, and I can’t blame you.

I hope you find peace in the next match.