I bumped up against my mum as she abruptly stopped walking.

It was hard to see at first, then I saw it. Big eyes. A huge, hairy dust-coloured mane. A widened mouth, snarling teeth sticking out. Tensed muscles.

We stood there silently, nobody moving. The lion looked at us silently. Sweat flowed between my backpack and my back. The sun was incredibly hot.

My little brother started whimpering. The lion stood up and walked out slowly from the grass, keeping its eyes on us. It was wary of humans, but it could also see that we were without weapons, all alone on that pathway. We had been walking for days, trying to escape the war front. We were weak, and the lion seemed to sense it.

But it was careful, one could never be sure with humans.

The lion was thin, I saw. Nobody was eating well in this country since the war started. The lion needed to eat, but it also knew how dangerous humans could be.

It looked at my little brother with interest. The little ones were usually much easier to catch, it knew. With other animals, anyways. My brother hugged the leg of my mum and the whimper slowly turned to a wail. He was just 3, but he knew he was the target.

Dad hushed him and took a step forward. The lion tensed and crouched, the aggression making it more confident. It was gauging Dad, and I think it decided that it would take him. His eyes glowed in anticipation. The lion dug its heels into the ground, and its muscles tensed.

And little brother suddenly screamed and ran towards the lion, a little toy pistol in his hand. Mum screamed at him to stop. He pushed a button on the pistol and the whiney electronic song of a nursery rhyme came out.

The lion jumped up in the air and jumped into the grass. It ran off, looking for more understandable prey.

We continued our trek forward, another 500 miles of dusty savannah ahead of us.