And up to mount the hero went
With fury great and patience spent.
To find the lion with fur of steel
And loathsome beast a death to deal.
From top of perch he lion spies
And notches bow to aim for eyes.
He loses arrow cross the way
In hopes he fellest beast will slay
But craven creature heard the twang
That sounds when arrow bow had slang.
And darts repelled by fur of beast
Who turns to make the hero feast.
It leapt across a thousand feet
And face of foe it quickly meets.
Who greets the beast with mighty blow
That fails to lay the lion low.
And quickly foes do beat retreat
And hero plans when next they meet.
He looks at gift of Satyr Pan
The wooden rod he holds in hand.
On side he's sees where claws have mark
The ancient hardy knotted bark.
"What name to beast shall hero dub
That makes it's mark on magic club.
That bears the might of Demi-god
The strongest man where mortals trod.
Because the face of club he marred
I'll call the mighty lion scar" <- 😉
And hero follows foe to den
In hopes the lions life to end.
There spying cave where lion sleeps
In cavern dank and darkness deep.
With mighty boulder exit blocks
So lion deep in cave is locked.
Then goes to caves foreboding mouth
There letting lose his mighty shout.
Then man and beast again do fight
Both striving hard with all their might.
And lion bites the hero hand
The mightiest palm in all the land.
And single finger severs fast
With mighty jaws furious clasp.
And knowing hide isn't pierced by steel
The hero look for way to deal
A killing blow to creature vile
Who claws and scratches quick and wild.
The sudden hero's hand he thrust
To throat of beast with blow that's just.
And grasp the neck of monster tight
And slowly beast is drained of life.
The cat does writhe and grasp for wind
And fight for life the hero wins.
He throw the beast to ground now dead
To King of Tyrne to soon be fed.
"No armor wrought by smithy's fire
Can best the fur of beast so dire.
For self I'll keep this monsters hide
For hero's sake the beast has died."
He looks for way to take the skin
The hide not pierced by mortal pin.
And claws that mark the oaken rod
A gift from ancient woodland god.
Did draw the gaze of hero's eyes
Whose sharpen curve the godling spies.
And poetic justice's swiftly bore
As monsters skin own claws now tore.