The cat, like the old saying, was curious. It was early and the morning air was heavy with scent. Bark and leaf and stone. Ice and snow. Fur and feather. One scent in particular turned its head, an aroma the animal had never smelled before. Wet wool, something chemical and foreign, but also the pungent whiff of sweat and body heat. Another animal.
The lion was young, rangy and lean, only its third spring in the mountains. It was also hungry. One small rabbit the day before had not offered much of a meal, and the cat huffed the breeze deeply, mouth open, tasting the air. There was something out there, and the cat switched directions, turning west against the morning light. It did not take long for it to find the tracks this strange new animal left, and it quickened its pace through the trees, finally on the hunt.