The male lion stepped forward, ignoring us completely. He nudged the female’s head with his nose, letting out a soft, questioning whine. He was trying to wake her up.
“She’s in shock,” I said, seeing the shallow, irregular rise of her flank. “Or she’s hypoxic. If we don’t jump-start her system, she’s not going to make it.” I ran back to the jeep and grabbed the veterinary kit. We carried it for injured rhinos, but the adrenaline shot inside was universal.
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I had to get close enough to stick a needle into a wild lioness while her mate watched from three feet away. This was the moment where I should have lost my arm.
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