The lion paces fretfully, too present to be bounded by its cage, and its body traces poetry in the air. Susan doesn’t notice how she grips the railing tight and rises up on the balls of her feet, all she knows is that she wants–-

-–but though this is not a tame lion, nor all beasts cannot be truly tamed, it is not one that will speak her name, either to invite her in or bar her entry. She sinks back onto her heels and turns away at once.