[quote]Story 1:
Gods Save the King: show
Gods Save the King
The sun shined impossibly brightly overhead as the collection of ten male lions, known as the Parliament, gathered on the promontory of Pride Rock. The pride’s lionesses were crowded around the base of the structure or out hunting. It was such a normal occurrence that no one noticed the steely eyes peering down from the highest peak of Pride Rock. The orbs belonged to a spry and deadly lioness who had come here with a specific purpose.
The lion king Mohatu, was in danger this day, by a member of the Parliament—his own son. The lioness had uncovered Prince Ahadi’s connection with the Templar Order and their plot to oust the kind and fair king the land so loved. The king was in possession of an artifact that the Templars wanted—one that by extension, the Assassins wanted, in order to prevent the Templars unleashing darkness upon the world—and so, they were plotting his murder.
The Assassin absently ran a paw across the mark that told the world what she was—a single scar across her left eye—before slipping around to the back of Pride Rock, ever-so-silently. She had to rescue the king, but first, she had to get the artifact out of here, or all would be lost. The lioness pushed against the sandy stones, jumping carefully down a ledge at a time, using her claws when needed, but keeping them sheathed when they’d make unnecessary sound. Just below her was a tiny sliver of a cave that led into the catacombs of the king’s home. That’s where she’d find the artifact.
In one fluid feline movement, she dropped backwards from the ledge, and caught the mouth of the opening with her claws, pulling herself into the secret entryway. The lioness padded through the dusty darkness, not waiting for her eyes to adjust as she knew precisely where the artifact was hidden. Spiders and ants fled her path as her paws silently struck the cave’s floor, sending up small clouds of dust in her wake, which then settled, and left no signs she was ever there at all.
The Assassin made her way into the depths of the corridors, twisting and turning at just the right places, until she found herself above a black pool. On the other side was a chest that concealed the artifact. She couldn’t afford to step in the water, or she’d leave a trail that could be used to track her down. She knew there were some members of the Templar Order in these catacombs, searching for the artifact as well, and she couldn’t let them find it, or her, no matter what. Carefully, quietly, she backed herself up, and then sprinted towards the pool, kicking off with her hind feet as she reached the water’s edge and launched herself over the black liquid.
She slid to a stop on the other side, knocking up another cloud of dust, one large enough to make her cough a little. She quickly regulated her breathing to stop making unnecessary racket and padded across the rocks to the chest. It sat before her in a majestic, yet forlorn way that almost seemed shameful to disrupt—but she heard the distinct sound of a pebble skidding across stone and knew that an enemy was drawing near, and that she had little time. Swiftly and deftly, the lioness placed her paw on the dial and twisted until it clicked, triggering the lid to pop open and reveal a round, coconut-sized, glowing orb. A soft golden light surrounded the artifact, washing her face and neck in a gentle glow.
For a moment, the Assassin merely stood there, marveling at the magnificence of this otherwise small and unassuming object. Then she shook her head and snatched up the orb in her jaws, swiveling around and gracefully making the leap back across the pool. She slipped out of this chamber and came face to face with a thickly maned lion. His eyes widened, and face tensed, and she knew that he was about to blow her cover.
“Assassin…!” he gasped even as she held up the artifact and put it to use. Seemingly untouched, the lion crumpled to the cave floor, his body lifeless. Quickly, the lioness made a break for the exit, hoping no other Templars would happen upon her. She ducked into nooks and crannies to avoid detection as she slunk back to the secret entrance she’d used. The mandrill would be waiting for her near the foot of Pride Rock, and the king’s time drew increasingly short the longer she dawdled.
At long last, she burst into the light of day, noting the sun was only just beginning its descent. She wasn’t yet too late. They wouldn’t kill Mohatu in the daylight, before the whole kingdom. That would be foolish. The lioness bounded urgently down the slope, scanning the ground for the form of the mandrill. He was resting against a tree, almost invisible, silently awaiting her return. With a sigh, she trotted over the boulders and dropped down on the earth before him.
“Uru, you’ve done it,” Rafiki stated. Uru placed the artifact on the ground between them and used her nose to roll it towards the mandrill.
“Yes, mentor. But still I must save Mohatu.”
“Can you really kill your husband, for de good of de people?”
“What choice do I have? If the Templars win, all will be lost… Ahadi is not fit to be king,” the lioness replied sadly.
“And what of your son?”
“Taka… he shall never be king, since I was not Ahadi’s first mate… but his brother and their grandfather shall take care of him, and this place will be a good home for him still. Train him in our ways when I’m gone. Raise him by the Creed. Someone will need to carry on fighting the Templars in my absence.”
“Yes, of course. Safety and peace, my friend,” Rafiki said thoughtfully, tying the artifact onto the end of his staff with the fruits on the end to disguise it until he could hide it. Uru nodded and returned her gaze to Pride Rock.
“Safety and peace to you as well, mentor,” she murmured softly.
The lioness began to climb, a gentle breeze tugging at her fur and the sounds of Rafiki’s footsteps growing steadily softer. A paw caught onto a branch. The lithe form sprung through the air onto a boulder. Launched up the side of the mountain to a hanging ledge. The ascent was long and tiring, but at long last, as the sun was nearing its nightly resting point, the Assassin Uru reached the height of the peak once again, and gazed down at the still gathered Parliament.
King Mohatu was still alive and well, talking to the lion next to him. Their voices carried, but Uru couldn’t make out the words. Nor did she need to. The dark lioness’s emerald gaze scanned the collection of males below, seeking one and one only. There! Ahadi, her mate and future king, stood away from the large collection, his claws unsheathed, looking over his shoulders as if he were anxious. Uru felt her heart clench. She’d thought Ahadi was a good lion, and she truly loved him—but then, she’d overheard it from his own mouth that he was planning his father’s death. It was obvious to anyone who knew to suspect him. She would have never thought him a Templar if she hadn’t borne witness to it. How could any lion with as good a conscience as he be one of them?
The lioness blinked away a tear and crouched, tensing her muscles. She had to strike soon. The darkness was surrounding them, and the reddish hues of the sky would help hide her descent and escape. She scanned the area. Ahadi was secluded enough that if she were quiet, they may not notice at first—no one was looking this way. She wiggled her muscles a bit, preparing for the jump, and a moment later, she was rocketing towards the earth, a mahogany blur against a red sky, her forelegs extended and ready to go for the kill upon impact.
It was over in a few seconds; her claws embedded in her mate’s mane and her teeth pierced the tender flesh of his neck. He made a gurgling sound and collapsed to the rocky floor beneath him. The lioness nuzzled him sadly. All of the other lions seemed to disappear, leaving Uru with her dying mate.
“Urk… so, you know… what I was planning…” he gasped.
“Why did you never tell me you’re a Templar? Why would you want to destroy the world, and your father? I don’t understand,” she questioned, blinking away a few more tears.
“You Assassins are always so quick to jump to the wrong conclusions… you would never have understood my motivation, or what ways the kingdom, and the world itself, would benefit from what I was planning. I was going to use my father’s resources to save the world, but now, you’ve only damned it.”
“That’s not true! How could you speak the lies of the Templars? How could you believe them? Look… the light’s leaving your eyes, my beautiful prince… our boys will be without parents, and for what?”
“I should be asking that of you… I love you, Uru, but like the rest of your kind, you are ignorant and foolish. Don’t believe everything the monkey tells you...”
With that, Ahadi lay his head against the stone, coughing and gurgling, as eyes began to turn towards the duo and take notice of what had transpired.
“Assassin!” someone yelled.
“Prince Ahadi! She’s killed Prince Ahadi!”
Her time up, Uru sprinted away from the body, barreled down Pride Rock and pushed past the lionesses, disappearing into the crowd as best she could. The other members of Parliament and their guards began scouring the land for her as Mohatu, unaware of Ahadi’s plot, rushed to his son’s carcass. Uru watched from amongst the crowd, slowly padding away in an attempt not to draw attention to herself. The tears in her eyes, however, caused the other lionesses to give her a bit of a berth, making her position rather obvious.
“There! There she goes! Get the assassin! Stop Uru!”
The lioness kicked into a run and raced across the grass and sand, not noticing the mortified stares being cast on her by her own son and step-son as she fled. All that she could think was to wonder if she had made a mistake, if Ahadi had been right. But there was no way that could be, for the death of Mohatu would do nothing but hurt the kingdom, and forfeit the world to the chaos she knew the Templars to so love.
Without even a backwards glance, the Assassin continued running onwards, until she passed the rise on the northern border that led into the Elephant Graveyard. She didn’t pay any mind to the cackling around her, for the hyena were no threat to her kind—in fact they welcomed them. The Matriarch had offered a protected area for Uru to take rest before moving on in search of greener pastures and a new life. She would never see her son again, nor his father, nor her home—that was the price of Mohatu’s life. She could only hope that Ahadi’s death would not destroy the fair king Mohatu had always been.
Story 2:
Under The Moonlight: show
Under the moonlight, she sat. She waited.
A gentle breeze parted the fur on her face, but she paid it no mind. The lioness simply lay there, unblinking, unmoving, as seemingly impartial as a statue.
The blood that littered the ground around her, staining the grasses, wetting the flowers with crimson showers, slicking the ground until it was awash with reflected light… it told a different story. A story of sorrow, of loss. But not of death.
No. Not of death. Of life. New life. She stroked it, absently, with her tongue, cleaning the newborn cubs of the scent of birth, cleaning them of the stickiness that marked them as the newest entrants into the world.
The world that had turned its back on her. And birthed, of course, from the lion who had turned his back on her.
She remembered what he had said. Every word was like a pinprick lodged firmly in her mind. Small, infuriating little syllables all banded together, ravenous like army ants, as passively destructive as termites…
After all this, she couldn’t believe the nerve he had, to dare to do that to her. After all the gestures, after all the exchanging of gifts, the mutual professions of love… it was all moot now. Gone. Destroyed. Ravaged. And for what?
That temptress. The slick siren, the cunning maiden. She took a back seat to that… that… whelp.
Veins of anger, bloody and vengeful, took a hold inside like roots, growing and changing and adapting. It was a new hatred, one borne of a shattered love. A hatred so strong that it could only come from a broken heart. And even then, it was still so ineffable, so hard for her to put to words… there was simply the feeling, deep and yawning like an abyss, churning out its tormenting emotions as they continuously welled up and overflowed the bounds of the corporeal shell she lived in. There was only the pain. And that was all.
Even the birth of her offspring—hers, but also his—paled in comparison to how distraught she felt inside. And when she licked those cubs, when she saw their small, fully-formed bodies with those sleek brown pelts, with those scrunched eyes that were no doubt tinged a verdant, envious shade, and with those sparse black tufts crowning their heads and gracing their tails, she was reminded of their father.
Their. Father.
You told me you loved me… is this how you show it… to cheat on me?
It was her own voice saying it, days before, as her belly swayed, heavily pregnant. Curved and distended with evidence of their attachment. They’d mated. They were supposed to be together. ‘I’ll love you forever’ was supposed to apply for, well… forever. But it would never be. Not now. She couldn’t forgive him. And she couldn’t forgive her. The harpy. The snake. Not for this. It’d never be the same. Their bond was supposed to be special, it was supposed to be theirs and theirs alone. But that was a lie.
She felt her anger grow as her tongue stroked her little children, and thus her licking was harsh, as it abraded hair from the napes of her charges. The gesture, one that most would, in her shoes, have construed and intended as gentle and motherly, was hurting them, and she didn’t even know. Nor would she have cared. They mewled and struggled, little writhing serpents, little copy-cats of their father. They, too, would lie, wouldn’t they? They, too, were hoping to get away, secretly, weren’t they?
There was a prick of rage, of long-kept frustration. She wasn’t sure why, but it was transferred onto those cubs. Those two little twins, both clones of the lion she had adored… and now despised.
The mews of pain that ensued when she put down her paw, claws out, were not simple mews of pain. They were echoes. She could have sworn she heard them, tickling the inside of her ear, worming their way into the conscious part of her brain until all she could think, all she could see, all she could feel… was him.
Mew… mew…
Let me explain, Sarafina, I can tell you why I was with Zira…
No… I’ve had enough of your lies, Scar!
Mew…
But my love, please…
She felt that purring voice, once so soft and seductive. But now she knew. The true nature of the cunning wretch that was her former intended. She felt her claws dig into flesh, she felt the squeals beneath her. They weren’t his. But she imagined that they were.
“Stop it,” she spoke, her voice warped with the tinges of a growl, the remnants of her grief, her anger… “stop it, damn you!”
More squeals. She kneaded her claws. She heard their cries. But the lioness, up until then so tender, so excited about having their children, so believing when he told her he was leaving to go hunting, that he had had nothing to do with that strange lioness who claimed she loved him… she was torn apart by her emotions, she was now only a husk of her normal self. Her usual empathy was gone. She felt nothing for her cubs. And neither did their father, who didn’t even know that they existed…
… Not that he ever would, either.
MRAWWW, MRAWWW!
She wasn’t sure what she was doing. In a sudden flash, in the spur of the moment, she shifted forwards, smothering the babes that had been nestling themselves into the fur upon her forearms underneath her heaving chest—the one that buckled just for breath, slick with sweat and barely covering her pounding heart.
The last thing they heard was that heartbeat. The pulse of the heart that would never love them. They mewed some more, they cried in pain… she felt their kicks, the pushing of their little limbs as they resisted their fates, as they fought like their father against their righteous punishment…
They were entrapped in the prison of fur around them. Their writhing slowed, and then, after several moments, it stopped altogether. Their cries became silent. Their warm bodies went limp. The cubs stopped moving, and then, without fanfare, and without anyone else knowing of their existence, they died. Softly and silently. Only the buzzards would care about their demise… and even then, those feelings were strictly in recognition and appreciation of the scarce meat covering their slight, tiny bones. There would be no mourning for their death. And even Sarafina, in as much stress as she was, did not consider it a loss.
It was a gain. A battle won over the would-have-been lover that had made her suffer so. It was payback, vengeance in its most twisted form… for she couldn’t kill him, as much as she would have liked. But she could kill those that lived in his image.
Unfortunately, though, her motivation, the reason she had smothered her own cubs… it didn’t take into account the fact that they were her offspring too, that they shared her flesh and blood. But alas, a part of her didn’t care. It was due justice, for the betrayal wrought by her other half.
In the wake of her tragedy, in the midst of her distress, she had lost. And here, in the midst of the savannah, in the form of two dead children birthed from her own loins… she had given up a part of herself. Not only physically, but mentally, emotionally… and there was no telling if she could ever win it back again.
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Five moons passed. Or was it six? She couldn’t be sure—even time was slow to dull the pain. What had once been red-hot, burning, ravaging, tearing… it wasn’t flame-like anymore, but it was still like a glowing ember lodged under her foot. It gave her a constant, dull throbbing, interspersed with sharp bursts of hurt. She couldn’t forget. But even if she did, that missing piece of her was, she’d been convinced, forever to be missing.
She’d ignored it, though, as she pressed herself into his fur, as she drew in more of his scent in every breath, as she uttered his name in quiet whispers that quickly faded into the breeze beneath the cold, milky stars.
Laini… Laini…
Those pale paws caressed her back, feeling her tenderly, suavely, in exactly the right places. She sensed the tips of his padded digits stroke the dip between her shoulder blades. He knew—exactly, with a practically clairvoyant knowledge—where she liked to be touched the most. Gracefully the lioness’ head came rotating back, the rumbling of many successive purrs rolling through her throat as she smiled delicately, the edges of her teeth exposed amidst soft moans of pleasure.
For alas, that was what this lion was for. Pleasure.
The terms had been made clear upon their first encounter, a meeting that had, if anything, been a twist of fate. She needed someone—someone to replace the gap, the chunk that had been torn out of her.
He’d had a mate at home. Cubs. But none of that was of importance.
We won’t be mates, she’d said. Nobody will know. It will just be us.
That way there was no way to be hurt again. Emotionally, there was no investment from either of them. But physically, sensually… they needed each other. Badly.
Once he’d taken the bait, once they’d gone on with that first night… now it was a routine. Every full moon they would meet, under the light of the heavens, to join together in a physical embrace. It was almost like a dance, a loving gesture that wove them together… but any true love was short-lived and gone by the rising of the sun.
Not that she minded. The full moon reminded her of that other night, of her other lover… she was reminded of the disapproving lionesses, those that said she should stay with him, that he was a prince, that she’d been a good girl, that she needed to join with the lion she’d said she would mate.
But any thought of that now made her lips crease in a smile. It was her way of rebelling, of breaking free. The pleasant young lioness was gone, replaced with a shadow. A temptress whose wiles matched those of Zira, the one who had stolen away her happiness. And now she understood. She felt empowered, free. And most of all, she did… not… need… him.
She would no longer be a princess. But here, in the middle of the savannah with this similarly broken lion from another pride, she still felt like one.
“Laini, my dear,” she spoke such ephemeral words, words tainted with the appearance of love and yet still so empty in their meaning. Not that he minded. He simply played along with the charade. They both did. It was the exact same play as before, only with different actors. She would not be the victim this time.
“Take me.”
Her tongue stroked his cheek. She felt the muscles in his face tense, pulling his lips into a soft, sensual grin. There was a brushing of fur, a meeting of flanks together. Their stomachs rubbed, her hips rotated out for him as she gazed upon his sweat-slicked head. A few locks of brown mane crested his stubborn visage, and those determined emerald eyes… they were locked into a fiery expression, one that aptly reflected his libido, the focused power held by his burly frame.
Her face was contorted, screwed into a shape that reflected both pleasure and pain. Her soft green irises hardened, a flicker being borne into them as she exerted herself, as they pressed themselves together in the darkness. Grimaces. Moans. The sweet scent of mating as it filled the air and became all she could feel. A strong feeling that penetrated her every pore, that wormed its way through her every orifice, until all she could feel, all she could think, all she could see… was him.
The waves of pleasure continued. She allowed his advances. Her paws caressed his strong shoulders, rounded with muscle, and her tongue found the back of his ear as she continued licking any spot on him she could reach, much to his satisfaction…
But alas, it was not to be for much longer. Much too soon for their liking, the moon was fading and disappearing, giving way to the brilliance of a golden dawn. Already the faintest rays of sunlight were filtering to the east, painting heaven’s canvas with their glow, tinting the sky just a few shades lighter.
Sunrise was coming soon. And when it did, their time would have to end.
Their nights of guilty pleasure could not last forever.
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“Momma, where’re we going?”
“… Nowhere, Nala. I just need to, need you to… meet someone.”
“Is it someone special?”
She chuckled awkwardly, though her features were all but devoid of humor. In fact, they seemed more… forlorn… The full moon shone upon the grasses, as it did when she met him, as it did when her cub was born.
Sarafina hadn’t seen Laini since she’d told him she was pregnant. With his cub. But she still went every month, despite knowing that he was likely gone forever. Knowing that he had likely become too afraid once he realized that there was actual evidence of their attachment, that somebody else could find out.
Not that she blamed him. There wasn’t anger, like there had been for Scar. Her opinions of love were not hot and vengeful. There was only a sorrow, a sadness… deep and numbing, an apt incarnation of her yearning.
She realized that, in a strange way, she loved him. She shouldn’t have, but she did. And thus she’d kept her cub—her third cub—to remind her of him. In that way, he was never truly gone.
In a way, though, she wasn’t sure why she’d brought Nala. She knew he wouldn’t come. But perhaps… well… she’d wanted something. Wanted her to know the truth of her parentage. Wanted her to know that her father was not Scar, as the pride had raised her to believe.
Sarafina had, indeed, seen and felt the disapproval of the pride. For Scar was a male, and he was a prince. She was just a lowly lioness. They took his side, they censured her for leaving him. They blamed her until her anger faded, citing that they had mated and, thus, were not allowed by law to split apart. And then, finally, she’d accepted him out of sheer desperation, afraid she had no other choice.
And it was true. She didn’t. She had to take him, even though she could see his true colors. Even though he no longer bothered to hide the fact that he was truly in love with Zira, who would soon bear his cubs. She was barely noticed, barely loved by him…
But she did, at least, have Nala. She had proof, in her eyes at least, that she’d beaten him, that she’d refused to submit to the norms of society. Even if she took the secret to her grave, at least she knew that, before she was forced to become the princess of someone she no longer loved, and was made to have his descendants, and keep him happy, she had been her own being, her own entity. She had gone against the grain and made something for herself.
She needed love. She was starved, lost, like a spurned puppy. And with Laini gone, well… all she had left was Nala to give it to her. And even then, her daughter would never be able to fulfill her the way that Laini, or indeed any other male, could have.
The lioness thought back to the cubs she’d smothered. The story she’d come up with to explain their absence. She’d used it to sate her daughter’s many curious questions… and Scar’s as well.
I miscarried. See, here they are?
… They have claw marks, Sara.
She growled at the thought of his voice, so smooth and suave, and yet questioning her every move, studying her with an eagle’s eye, intensely boring down on her. The lioness did not want to know what would happen if he did not like her answers, nor did she bother to find out. So she lied. A lie for a lie, after all.
We were attacked. Some hungry hyena tried to eat them.
A glint in his eye. He didn’t fully believe her. But he didn’t press the issue farther.
Well, I suppose we always have… next time… my sweet Sarafina… Just do try harder, will you?
She shuddered. The tip of his tail, coarse and yet sleek, like a raven’s plumage, touched her sensitive flank. Her hackles bristled, but she remained calm, trying to bridle her fury.
Here and now, in this savannah, she was hoping for the arrival of her mate—her true mate, Nala’s true father. The cub was old enough to know, old enough to keep the secret… no longer did her mother want her to think that such a cruel persona as Scar truly was her father.
But still she remembered. The pride. How they asked. How he asked.
Is she my cub, Sarafina? Is she mine?
… Why would you ask such a thing?
She’d faked offense, as any decent mate would have. But somewhere deep inside, he knew. He hadn’t been faithful, and thus she had not been, either.
Sarafina… do not lie to me…
She grimaced in recollection of it. Her daughter trotted in place by her side, anticipating, as she did, the appearance of someone very special. This was it, the clearing they always met at.
But it was merely empty, barren space. There was no lion here, nor was there trace of one.
The lioness, broken and lost, heaved a sigh. She was hurt, but she couldn’t blame him. He, too, was pulled away by thoughts of those around him. His passions had been cooled by a sense of decency, of complacency. As hers had been.
“Momma, who’s gonna meet us here?”
“… Nobody, Nala. Just… just your father…”
“But isn’t Scar my father?”
It was an innocent question. But it reminded her of the past. Of that lion’s questioning, of his brutal and demanding eyes boring into her. She had to make a choice. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a choice. And so, just as she had done that day with Scar, she looked her daughter in the eyes—eyes that were green, as his were. She looked down, and saw not her offspring… but the so-called mate she had at home, the embodiment of her fear, of her guilt. It was not her choice to make, unless she wanted to risk shame, and hurt, and the death of her daughter…
Is that my cub?
“… Momma… answer me… isn’t he my father?”
Sarafina…?
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear.”
Her words were an exact echo of the ones she’d said after Nala’s birth. Now, officially, she had submitted. She’d given up her thoughts of love for more important responsibilities. Thus she turned away and went home…
… And she never returned to the only clearing where she’d ever truly felt loved.
A gentle breeze parted the fur on her face, but she paid it no mind. The lioness simply lay there, unblinking, unmoving, as seemingly impartial as a statue.
The blood that littered the ground around her, staining the grasses, wetting the flowers with crimson showers, slicking the ground until it was awash with reflected light… it told a different story. A story of sorrow, of loss. But not of death.
No. Not of death. Of life. New life. She stroked it, absently, with her tongue, cleaning the newborn cubs of the scent of birth, cleaning them of the stickiness that marked them as the newest entrants into the world.
The world that had turned its back on her. And birthed, of course, from the lion who had turned his back on her.
She remembered what he had said. Every word was like a pinprick lodged firmly in her mind. Small, infuriating little syllables all banded together, ravenous like army ants, as passively destructive as termites…
After all this, she couldn’t believe the nerve he had, to dare to do that to her. After all the gestures, after all the exchanging of gifts, the mutual professions of love… it was all moot now. Gone. Destroyed. Ravaged. And for what?
That temptress. The slick siren, the cunning maiden. She took a back seat to that… that… whelp.
Veins of anger, bloody and vengeful, took a hold inside like roots, growing and changing and adapting. It was a new hatred, one borne of a shattered love. A hatred so strong that it could only come from a broken heart. And even then, it was still so ineffable, so hard for her to put to words… there was simply the feeling, deep and yawning like an abyss, churning out its tormenting emotions as they continuously welled up and overflowed the bounds of the corporeal shell she lived in. There was only the pain. And that was all.
Even the birth of her offspring—hers, but also his—paled in comparison to how distraught she felt inside. And when she licked those cubs, when she saw their small, fully-formed bodies with those sleek brown pelts, with those scrunched eyes that were no doubt tinged a verdant, envious shade, and with those sparse black tufts crowning their heads and gracing their tails, she was reminded of their father.
Their. Father.
You told me you loved me… is this how you show it… to cheat on me?
It was her own voice saying it, days before, as her belly swayed, heavily pregnant. Curved and distended with evidence of their attachment. They’d mated. They were supposed to be together. ‘I’ll love you forever’ was supposed to apply for, well… forever. But it would never be. Not now. She couldn’t forgive him. And she couldn’t forgive her. The harpy. The snake. Not for this. It’d never be the same. Their bond was supposed to be special, it was supposed to be theirs and theirs alone. But that was a lie.
She felt her anger grow as her tongue stroked her little children, and thus her licking was harsh, as it abraded hair from the napes of her charges. The gesture, one that most would, in her shoes, have construed and intended as gentle and motherly, was hurting them, and she didn’t even know. Nor would she have cared. They mewled and struggled, little writhing serpents, little copy-cats of their father. They, too, would lie, wouldn’t they? They, too, were hoping to get away, secretly, weren’t they?
There was a prick of rage, of long-kept frustration. She wasn’t sure why, but it was transferred onto those cubs. Those two little twins, both clones of the lion she had adored… and now despised.
The mews of pain that ensued when she put down her paw, claws out, were not simple mews of pain. They were echoes. She could have sworn she heard them, tickling the inside of her ear, worming their way into the conscious part of her brain until all she could think, all she could see, all she could feel… was him.
Mew… mew…
Let me explain, Sarafina, I can tell you why I was with Zira…
No… I’ve had enough of your lies, Scar!
Mew…
But my love, please…
She felt that purring voice, once so soft and seductive. But now she knew. The true nature of the cunning wretch that was her former intended. She felt her claws dig into flesh, she felt the squeals beneath her. They weren’t his. But she imagined that they were.
“Stop it,” she spoke, her voice warped with the tinges of a growl, the remnants of her grief, her anger… “stop it, damn you!”
More squeals. She kneaded her claws. She heard their cries. But the lioness, up until then so tender, so excited about having their children, so believing when he told her he was leaving to go hunting, that he had had nothing to do with that strange lioness who claimed she loved him… she was torn apart by her emotions, she was now only a husk of her normal self. Her usual empathy was gone. She felt nothing for her cubs. And neither did their father, who didn’t even know that they existed…
… Not that he ever would, either.
MRAWWW, MRAWWW!
She wasn’t sure what she was doing. In a sudden flash, in the spur of the moment, she shifted forwards, smothering the babes that had been nestling themselves into the fur upon her forearms underneath her heaving chest—the one that buckled just for breath, slick with sweat and barely covering her pounding heart.
The last thing they heard was that heartbeat. The pulse of the heart that would never love them. They mewed some more, they cried in pain… she felt their kicks, the pushing of their little limbs as they resisted their fates, as they fought like their father against their righteous punishment…
They were entrapped in the prison of fur around them. Their writhing slowed, and then, after several moments, it stopped altogether. Their cries became silent. Their warm bodies went limp. The cubs stopped moving, and then, without fanfare, and without anyone else knowing of their existence, they died. Softly and silently. Only the buzzards would care about their demise… and even then, those feelings were strictly in recognition and appreciation of the scarce meat covering their slight, tiny bones. There would be no mourning for their death. And even Sarafina, in as much stress as she was, did not consider it a loss.
It was a gain. A battle won over the would-have-been lover that had made her suffer so. It was payback, vengeance in its most twisted form… for she couldn’t kill him, as much as she would have liked. But she could kill those that lived in his image.
Unfortunately, though, her motivation, the reason she had smothered her own cubs… it didn’t take into account the fact that they were her offspring too, that they shared her flesh and blood. But alas, a part of her didn’t care. It was due justice, for the betrayal wrought by her other half.
In the wake of her tragedy, in the midst of her distress, she had lost. And here, in the midst of the savannah, in the form of two dead children birthed from her own loins… she had given up a part of herself. Not only physically, but mentally, emotionally… and there was no telling if she could ever win it back again.
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Five moons passed. Or was it six? She couldn’t be sure—even time was slow to dull the pain. What had once been red-hot, burning, ravaging, tearing… it wasn’t flame-like anymore, but it was still like a glowing ember lodged under her foot. It gave her a constant, dull throbbing, interspersed with sharp bursts of hurt. She couldn’t forget. But even if she did, that missing piece of her was, she’d been convinced, forever to be missing.
She’d ignored it, though, as she pressed herself into his fur, as she drew in more of his scent in every breath, as she uttered his name in quiet whispers that quickly faded into the breeze beneath the cold, milky stars.
Laini… Laini…
Those pale paws caressed her back, feeling her tenderly, suavely, in exactly the right places. She sensed the tips of his padded digits stroke the dip between her shoulder blades. He knew—exactly, with a practically clairvoyant knowledge—where she liked to be touched the most. Gracefully the lioness’ head came rotating back, the rumbling of many successive purrs rolling through her throat as she smiled delicately, the edges of her teeth exposed amidst soft moans of pleasure.
For alas, that was what this lion was for. Pleasure.
The terms had been made clear upon their first encounter, a meeting that had, if anything, been a twist of fate. She needed someone—someone to replace the gap, the chunk that had been torn out of her.
He’d had a mate at home. Cubs. But none of that was of importance.
We won’t be mates, she’d said. Nobody will know. It will just be us.
That way there was no way to be hurt again. Emotionally, there was no investment from either of them. But physically, sensually… they needed each other. Badly.
Once he’d taken the bait, once they’d gone on with that first night… now it was a routine. Every full moon they would meet, under the light of the heavens, to join together in a physical embrace. It was almost like a dance, a loving gesture that wove them together… but any true love was short-lived and gone by the rising of the sun.
Not that she minded. The full moon reminded her of that other night, of her other lover… she was reminded of the disapproving lionesses, those that said she should stay with him, that he was a prince, that she’d been a good girl, that she needed to join with the lion she’d said she would mate.
But any thought of that now made her lips crease in a smile. It was her way of rebelling, of breaking free. The pleasant young lioness was gone, replaced with a shadow. A temptress whose wiles matched those of Zira, the one who had stolen away her happiness. And now she understood. She felt empowered, free. And most of all, she did… not… need… him.
She would no longer be a princess. But here, in the middle of the savannah with this similarly broken lion from another pride, she still felt like one.
“Laini, my dear,” she spoke such ephemeral words, words tainted with the appearance of love and yet still so empty in their meaning. Not that he minded. He simply played along with the charade. They both did. It was the exact same play as before, only with different actors. She would not be the victim this time.
“Take me.”
Her tongue stroked his cheek. She felt the muscles in his face tense, pulling his lips into a soft, sensual grin. There was a brushing of fur, a meeting of flanks together. Their stomachs rubbed, her hips rotated out for him as she gazed upon his sweat-slicked head. A few locks of brown mane crested his stubborn visage, and those determined emerald eyes… they were locked into a fiery expression, one that aptly reflected his libido, the focused power held by his burly frame.
Her face was contorted, screwed into a shape that reflected both pleasure and pain. Her soft green irises hardened, a flicker being borne into them as she exerted herself, as they pressed themselves together in the darkness. Grimaces. Moans. The sweet scent of mating as it filled the air and became all she could feel. A strong feeling that penetrated her every pore, that wormed its way through her every orifice, until all she could feel, all she could think, all she could see… was him.
The waves of pleasure continued. She allowed his advances. Her paws caressed his strong shoulders, rounded with muscle, and her tongue found the back of his ear as she continued licking any spot on him she could reach, much to his satisfaction…
But alas, it was not to be for much longer. Much too soon for their liking, the moon was fading and disappearing, giving way to the brilliance of a golden dawn. Already the faintest rays of sunlight were filtering to the east, painting heaven’s canvas with their glow, tinting the sky just a few shades lighter.
Sunrise was coming soon. And when it did, their time would have to end.
Their nights of guilty pleasure could not last forever.
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“Momma, where’re we going?”
“… Nowhere, Nala. I just need to, need you to… meet someone.”
“Is it someone special?”
She chuckled awkwardly, though her features were all but devoid of humor. In fact, they seemed more… forlorn… The full moon shone upon the grasses, as it did when she met him, as it did when her cub was born.
Sarafina hadn’t seen Laini since she’d told him she was pregnant. With his cub. But she still went every month, despite knowing that he was likely gone forever. Knowing that he had likely become too afraid once he realized that there was actual evidence of their attachment, that somebody else could find out.
Not that she blamed him. There wasn’t anger, like there had been for Scar. Her opinions of love were not hot and vengeful. There was only a sorrow, a sadness… deep and numbing, an apt incarnation of her yearning.
She realized that, in a strange way, she loved him. She shouldn’t have, but she did. And thus she’d kept her cub—her third cub—to remind her of him. In that way, he was never truly gone.
In a way, though, she wasn’t sure why she’d brought Nala. She knew he wouldn’t come. But perhaps… well… she’d wanted something. Wanted her to know the truth of her parentage. Wanted her to know that her father was not Scar, as the pride had raised her to believe.
Sarafina had, indeed, seen and felt the disapproval of the pride. For Scar was a male, and he was a prince. She was just a lowly lioness. They took his side, they censured her for leaving him. They blamed her until her anger faded, citing that they had mated and, thus, were not allowed by law to split apart. And then, finally, she’d accepted him out of sheer desperation, afraid she had no other choice.
And it was true. She didn’t. She had to take him, even though she could see his true colors. Even though he no longer bothered to hide the fact that he was truly in love with Zira, who would soon bear his cubs. She was barely noticed, barely loved by him…
But she did, at least, have Nala. She had proof, in her eyes at least, that she’d beaten him, that she’d refused to submit to the norms of society. Even if she took the secret to her grave, at least she knew that, before she was forced to become the princess of someone she no longer loved, and was made to have his descendants, and keep him happy, she had been her own being, her own entity. She had gone against the grain and made something for herself.
She needed love. She was starved, lost, like a spurned puppy. And with Laini gone, well… all she had left was Nala to give it to her. And even then, her daughter would never be able to fulfill her the way that Laini, or indeed any other male, could have.
The lioness thought back to the cubs she’d smothered. The story she’d come up with to explain their absence. She’d used it to sate her daughter’s many curious questions… and Scar’s as well.
I miscarried. See, here they are?
… They have claw marks, Sara.
She growled at the thought of his voice, so smooth and suave, and yet questioning her every move, studying her with an eagle’s eye, intensely boring down on her. The lioness did not want to know what would happen if he did not like her answers, nor did she bother to find out. So she lied. A lie for a lie, after all.
We were attacked. Some hungry hyena tried to eat them.
A glint in his eye. He didn’t fully believe her. But he didn’t press the issue farther.
Well, I suppose we always have… next time… my sweet Sarafina… Just do try harder, will you?
She shuddered. The tip of his tail, coarse and yet sleek, like a raven’s plumage, touched her sensitive flank. Her hackles bristled, but she remained calm, trying to bridle her fury.
Here and now, in this savannah, she was hoping for the arrival of her mate—her true mate, Nala’s true father. The cub was old enough to know, old enough to keep the secret… no longer did her mother want her to think that such a cruel persona as Scar truly was her father.
But still she remembered. The pride. How they asked. How he asked.
Is she my cub, Sarafina? Is she mine?
… Why would you ask such a thing?
She’d faked offense, as any decent mate would have. But somewhere deep inside, he knew. He hadn’t been faithful, and thus she had not been, either.
Sarafina… do not lie to me…
She grimaced in recollection of it. Her daughter trotted in place by her side, anticipating, as she did, the appearance of someone very special. This was it, the clearing they always met at.
But it was merely empty, barren space. There was no lion here, nor was there trace of one.
The lioness, broken and lost, heaved a sigh. She was hurt, but she couldn’t blame him. He, too, was pulled away by thoughts of those around him. His passions had been cooled by a sense of decency, of complacency. As hers had been.
“Momma, who’s gonna meet us here?”
“… Nobody, Nala. Just… just your father…”
“But isn’t Scar my father?”
It was an innocent question. But it reminded her of the past. Of that lion’s questioning, of his brutal and demanding eyes boring into her. She had to make a choice. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a choice. And so, just as she had done that day with Scar, she looked her daughter in the eyes—eyes that were green, as his were. She looked down, and saw not her offspring… but the so-called mate she had at home, the embodiment of her fear, of her guilt. It was not her choice to make, unless she wanted to risk shame, and hurt, and the death of her daughter…
Is that my cub?
“… Momma… answer me… isn’t he my father?”
Sarafina…?
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear.”
Her words were an exact echo of the ones she’d said after Nala’s birth. Now, officially, she had submitted. She’d given up her thoughts of love for more important responsibilities. Thus she turned away and went home…
… And she never returned to the only clearing where she’d ever truly felt loved.
I am still going to give a full week to vote, so voting will end on Thursday, August 28th!
Voting rules are the usual: Don't vote for yourself, and don't vote for a story that you simply know was written by a friend. Don't ask others to vote for your story either. Read each one carefully and give all the stories the same consideration before you make your decision.
Now go vote on stories not written by me.
I'm very interested to see how this plays out.
Wouldn't you agree?