Scratch

[YFWE]

Who has two thumbs and hadn't written any sort of fanfic in well over a year? This guy.

This was an exercise in playing with different story formats and basically shaking off the rust. The plan, however, is to return to Wokovu: Kovu's Journey, a story I missed dearly, in the coming days.

Til then... hi?


"Scratch"


The sensation came when Kovu least expected it. A dull feeling, like a ticking that couldn't be stopped, a buzz that would never cease, a scratch that couldn't be itched.

With time, it would become stronger, coursing through his entire body as though it was a current of energy that had been intensified, traveling up and down, to and fro, but residing most vigorously within the confines of his mind. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

At first, Kovu found the sensation simple to ignore, its power swirling within him but without persuasion. But lately, he had found it difficult to avoid, especially when accompanied with thoughts of her.

Her. The one he was told to forget. The one whose life would be forever changed by his own destiny. The one named Kiara.

She was nothing but a pawn in the game, a quick, foolproof way to the king of Pride Rock himself, Simba. Weak, uninteresting and, most of all, the enemy.

And yet, when the sensation returned, strikingly powerful in repeated sessions, he found himself in a strange daze, unable to right his conscience, struggling to focus at the task at hand.

It happened that day, for instance. Kovu rose early on his mother's orders. Her teeth glinted in the morning sun that shone, just barely, into the Outlands, bared in an unforgiving sneer. Get up, she said. Every minute you sleep, Simba and his pride grow stronger than you.

His expression was hard as he padded out to the clearing in the rocks in which he took his morning gait. Undoubtedly, Vitani and Nuka would already be in there -- somewhere -- threatening to trip him up or attack him if he was not paying attention.

Above, atop one of the splits in the rugged terrain, Zira looked on expectantly, savoring the thought of the day's strenuous activity and of her son growing one step closer to fulfilling her own dream -- Scar's dream -- of taking the Pridelands.

The young lion's muscles tensed, and with a first step into the overhang, he vaulted into a brisk run.

But, scratch, scratch. Her image rushed to his brain.

She was the lioness cub he met one day as a youngster. When he was younger, his mother would let him venture a little ways outside the Outlands, into the grassy savanna terrain that he loved but was told he could not love. His mother uttered the word 'banishment.' He did not know what it meant then, but given the scorn with which she said it, he understood it was not good.

But when he had gazed upon her, Kovu had seen her not as an enemy, but as a potential friend. Someone fun. Carefree. A far cry from his playmate in the Outlands, Vitani. He loved her, but she could be a brute to him.

No, no, she had made him stronger. He appreciated how she had treated him. Stop it, Kovu.

Scratch.

But... her.

Zira had said no. No, you cannot see her. No, you cannot play with her. No, you cannot even think of her. She sees you as an outsider. See her as such.

But no, she had not. Kiara saw him as a friend -- or, at least, a potential one. The time, though brief, he had spent with her had been a happy time.

SMACK!

Kovu had been so engulfed in his thoughts about the golden lion that he had been unable to avoid the twig that had snapped into his face, causing him to stumble backward, shaking his head, agitated. Nearby, Nuka snickered quietly.

He heard his mother's exclamation from above him. What are you doing, she demanded. He was already many moments' pace behind his usual mark; she had had no trouble keeping up with him.

The dark brown lion shook his head again, squinted through the pain and continued on, one side of his face numb from the twig, which thankfully pushed away the thoughts of the lioness from his mind.

But it did not take long for them to return.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. An itching within his mind.

The lion cub would no doubt be nearing adulthood now, just as he was. From what his mother told him, he understood she would be taking her place as the bona fide princess of the lands, heir apparent to the throne once her father passed on.

Soon she would be the instrument of the Outlands pride's continued destruction, as her father had been.

He hated her.

And yet... he did not.

From where did the hate come? Was it an extension of his hate for Simba, the lion who had put his family in this mess to begin with? Was it an extension of his mother's hate? Why did he hate?

Hate, bring me down. But love, let me rise.

Love. Scratch. Love. Scratch. Did he love her?

No, no. He barely knew her. Interacted with her once. Was taught to despise her and her kingdom.

So why, then, did the feeling, this sensation, only intensify when he thought of her in a warm light, a light like the one he was unable to see for much of the day, for their land was covered in shadows.

Occasionally he crept to the highest point of the Outlands, or perhaps the edge of it. He would look out onto the savanna, allowing the sun to shine onto his matted, light-deprived fur. More recently, he sat there, and, staring off into the distance, toward Pride Rock, he thought of her.

Kovu's run was over. Now, Vitani squared off in front of him, a low growl emitting from her throat, tail twitching vigorously, ready to pounce. She was his opponent, and he was the aggressor. No, no, she was the aggressor, he reminded himself. She was the one who banished his family to the Outlands. She was the one he would eventually fight to reclaim the Pride Lands. She was...

She was Kiara.

He did not have time to brace himself for impact; in fact, he did not even remember hearing Zira's exclamation of "Go!" that Vitani had acted upon instantaneously. To the ground he fell, nearly unaware of his surroundings. Where was he? Where had he ended up? The line between the end of his run and the beginning of his spar with Vitani was one blurred, almost as though it had barely happened.

He heard his name again, once more from his mother's throat. He winced fleetingly but got to his feet, the slightest of blood oozing from his right foreleg like sap trickling from a tree.

She asked, again, what was wrong with him. Anger seethed in her face.

"Mother, why do we hate all of them?" he blurted.

It was a moment of weakness to which he was not accustomed, nor were his siblings and certainly not his mother. His sister, who had been ready to leap atop him, to force him to throw her off, to test his strength, instead slunk back into the shadows, Nuka following suit. There remained only the mother and her son, the silence deafening before she spoke.

She didn't understand what he meant. All of them? Who was them?

The Pridelanders, he responded. Why did they hate the Pridelanders?

Zira was beside herself, glaring at her son with a hardened gaze, her left eye and tail twitching. Why? "Why?!" she roared. He knew why. They all knew why. The Pridelanders -- especially Simba -- had banished them to the Outlands. They were the reason for their suffering. The famine, the lack of water, the rough living conditions. While the Outlanders struggled to stay alive, the Pridelanders lived in relative luxury, with an abundance of animals on which to feed and fresh water to drink. Above all, the Pridelanders laid claim to everything the light touched, and they saw themselves as the masters of all who could come before them, including their own kind they exiled to the far reaches, where the sun did not shine.

But her, Kovu said. The girl. Simba's daughter. What of her?

"What of her?" demanded Zira.

"Why must we involve her? Why will we have to ruin her life at our expense?"

Zira could not come to grips with her son's questions. For many moons, he had been a devoted, unwavering pupil in their quest to retake the Pride Lands. She had witnessed him morph from a young cub to nearly fully grown, and in his eyes she had seen the same steadfast determination she knew resided in her gaze, as well as in Scar's. He had offered every waking day to the cause, engaging his siblings in battle and undergoing strenuous tests of physical acumen that proved him nearly ready to take on his most important assignment: wooing the king's daughter, in hopes that he could get close enough to Simba to kill him.

But before her she saw a different lion. She saw the innocent, playful cub she had known many days before. She saw a scared, confused being, one which struggled to comprehend the very things he assumed without question not long before.

Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch went the sensation in the back of Kovu's mind. It was stronger than ever before.

His legs buckled from beneath him. Vitani was atop him, pinning him to the ground. It was a sneak attack, one from the shadows that he had not any time to prepare for. She had him, and strangely, he felt no compulsion to fight her.

Kovu's head was thrown to the side and blood swam in his eyes. Before he could react, his head was thrown violently the other way. Down and down again came Zira's paws, lashing her son against the side of his countenance, rattling him, his vision worsening with each blow. His mother was yelling things, words of spite, of hate.

In his mind he saw Kiara. Her pleading eyes looked at him with pity. She was saying something -- I'm sorry? -- but she was so, so far away.

He was sorry, too.

Kovu reached for the lioness but could not find her. Scratch, scratch. The itching was subsiding. The vision was leaving. She was almost gone, an outlier on the edge of the land far, far away from him. She took with her the light, the hope he held within.

He was on the edge of consciousness when she delivered the final shot, and all was blank.

It was not much later when he awoke. His family members were still there. Vitani had released him from her grip and now stood with her mother, watching expectantly.

The lion rolled into a stance, a paw going at once to the side of his head. He hurt, but he did not remember why.

His mother asked who he was. He responded with his name. What did she take him for, a fool?

She asked of his purpose. He said, "To kill Simba. To return the Pride Lands to its rightful owners. To avenge Scar."

She asked of the daughter.

"What of her?" Kovu asked. "She is expendable, just like the rest."

For the shortest time, Kiara had seen the Outlands from her perch atop Pride Rock shrouded in the slightest sunlight, a far cry from the darkness that usually accompanied the borders of the Pride Lands.

She had smiled, remembering the lion she once met, who lived in the light-deprived corner of her world. But soon the clouds had swallowed up the little sunlight that had befallen the land. And then, though she could not explain why, she was sad.

[FlipMode]

[quote] And then, though she could not explain why, she was sad.[/quote]

So was I after reading that story, blimey!

[YFWE]

well, i'd rather make you sad than, like, projectile vomit over how bad the story was or something, so that's a plus. thanks for the read!

[Azdgari]

I love it when you write things. Makes me go all tingly, all over, y'know? <3