He buried her beneath the old oak where morning light lingered. Staff gathered quietly—some in tears, some in silence, even the director removing his hat. That night, the lions roared for hours, their voices rolling across the zoo like thunder. Others dismissed it as restlessness or hunger. Ethan knew better. It was grief.
The zoo moved on, as institutions always do, chasing new attractions and headlines. But Ethan often returned to Bella’s tree, sitting in the quiet and listening. The lions’ roars carried deeper now, heavier with the weight of maturity, yet in them he always heard something softer.