They know that he is coming. They know that he doesn't know they are there. They crouch waiting. Listening. They catch the noises as the wind carries them to outstretched ears. They don't know what he is yet. They don't know he is just a warthog. He could be anything. They wait patiently. They are hungry. They know he will appear soon. They can hear him. They sense he will walk right into them. And there he is. Trotting towards them. They see him. And he still hasn't seen them. They lie there, ready to pounce. They have him now. He can't escape. And then in seconds it is over. Eight lions to one warthog. They have him. He never stood a chance. Poor warthog.
But they are nature and nature is them.
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