She was like a lamb hunted by wolves with bloodthirsty eyes. Dripping from their lips were deceit and lies like ghastly drool. With her back pressed against a tree, and limbs trembling, she lifted her head and tearfully begged, "Don't let me die!" 

But the wolves drew closer and scoffed, "Pooh, pooh! What a fool!" One cheered, "Let's eat!" And the shoulders of the little lamb dropped in defeat. "How did I get this lost?" she thought. "O, Good Shepherd, don't let them take me..."

As all these wolves leapt at the lamb, a voice boomed and roared like no other. "Away from her, you who are damned!"

Startled, the wolves quickly scattered like the cowards they were—but not the lamb. She bounced at the sight of Him, while the wolves were as good as dead. O, how the tables have turned!

Planted on a hill like a solid rock was the King. His mane was like gold and luminescent as a thousand suns. His eyes were darker than wine and. His teeth bared at the ravenous minions of His enemy—they saw how pure and white they were. Yes, whiter than milk. With His mouth agape, behold! His tongue was like a sword, and it devoured every wolf who oppressed His lamb.

As she saw that her accusers and tormentors were no more, the Lion swept her up in His tender paw, careful of every wound both in her heart and on the outside. He assured that these wounds were not fatal. She rejoiced in His timely salvation. Then, she leaned in the strength of His arm. The Lion disappeared into the horizon, with His lamb fast asleep and swaddled in the softness of His fur.