Standing upright in their cages, the lions had sniffed the incredible procession that was coming towards them, the riot of living flesh that was approaching across the dry grass. The lions and tigers kept their heads up, their snouts extended, as if a prairie fire were raining down on them all the animals of creation. In the delicious-smelling wafts, they could make out flesh heated under hide, juicy, supple muscle, and then pink, liquid blood alongside the slightly musky scent of ageing sheep. They also recognised the scent of women and children and, as the crowning touch, from the cows there was the aroma of dried cow dung which buffaloes smell of when they’re frightened. The eight wild cats felt all the best flavours of the earth were converging on them; a rising tide of meat was on offer and they were enjoying the explosion of scents. They were excited at the thought of plunging their snouts deeply into flesh which they would rip apart to enhance the odour, of tearing off whole chunks of their prey, their chops dripping with blood. The lion tamer picked up the agitation of his animals and went over to the cages. A man’s sense of smell is nothing like a lion’s so he didn’t immediately understand and went to take a look over the edge of the cliff. And there they all were below, climbing the twisting path.