The eye of the lion

The faint light was once more ever so delicately caressing his eyes, which were now open. It was a warm, distant light, hardly perceptible, with changing nuances and evanescent tones. It was scarcely intense enough for him to see his hand in front of his face, but in that warm darkness it was like a beautiful dawn to him, announcing the break of day.

Stifled murmurs, like sweet vibrations of distant words reached him occasionally, comforting him, giving him a tender feeling of peace and then, with the gentle touch of his own hand on his face, he was carried away by the snug sensation of sleepiness, and his delicate eyelids closed as they sought sleep. Then he was completely overwhelmed by a crystal-clear sensation in his peaceful world. The love of his mother.