A man reared a lion cub once in his house. It was new at the breast, a young gentle thing, tumbling and playing with children, delighting the old. The man took it up in his arms like an infant, nuzzling his hand when its belly was empty. But time passed. It started to show its lion nature— made an uninvited feast of slaughtered sheep, spilling blood and havoc from room to room. That thing was a priest of ruin. Bred in the house. Sent by god.
