The Lion King: My Name
Chapter 9: Homeland II: Easy, Right?
(Sorry for the long delay. My Name is not an easy story to write.)
There's a fine line between tough and crazy.
Zira flirted with it.
Kishindo crossed it.
No longer, though, did Kifo sneer at her words, and only follow her "suggestions" reluctantly. Now, when the lioness told him to do something, whether it was do pushups, pull-ups, sit-ups, or run, he jumped to it.
The lack of mistrust between the pair was startling; their operation on a near telepathic level. Kifo's training was harsh and merciless, but Kishindo's was hardly better. She was an aging lioness by any standard, but her training gave her the body of a cat in her prime.
Freak's training was emotionless, pragmatic, and offered little reward other than sullen acknowledgment.
Kishindo and Kifo were different. They praised and congratulated each another, showing appreciation and affection with strokes and nuzzles. The added motivation made them train even harder—within days, Kishindo was stronger than her long-time rival and archenemy, Sarabi.
Kifo, though... was a monster.
Now towering at a whopping eight feet tall, he was certainly a sight to behold. Like his muscles, Kifo's clothes had thickened and hardened, becoming so tough that they were nigh impenetrable.
His training, of course, wasn't exclusively physical—that would be a waste of the powerful dark energy he held within him. It took a lot of effort—a lot. But now, the demon could conjure up weapons—knives, pistols—within a second. More serious weapons such as rifles took more effort, but everything was becoming easier, more natural.
Now, the demon could take on Kishindo in a fight. Towards one another, they showed mercy, but not much. Kifo's face bore scars from the lioness's claws, and Kishindo's body had been bruised by the demon's fists and feet more than once.
At first, she'd demanded that they train to fight separately—that they be self-sufficient and self-reliant. Kifo disagreed, but shrugged, and did as he was told, knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Kishindo was acting in good faith, with only his interests at heart.
Soon, though, the lioness had changed her mind. And shortly thereafter, the duo had found that together, they were practically an army.
But they weren't arrogant—wait, no, fuck that, they were very arrogant.
In speech, anyway.
Their boasts and oaths against the leopards were constant and getting progressively harsher. Thus far, they were empty, but that wouldn't last for long…
This… wasn't really his style. At all.
Kifo's style was more of a fuck it, all or nothing, bust down your front door and light you up before you can recover rush.
Now, though, the demon had to sit back, relax, and peer through a set of binoculars, surveying his targets. At his side, Kishindo kept a weather eye out for anything that might give away their position.
"Three of them, right? Two adults, and a younger one?" the lioness murmured.
Kifo nodded, face as determined and harsh as hers.
"You don't need to be so quiet. They're three-quarters of a mile away."
"Yes. Well. Forgive me for holding traditional views on tracking and reconnaissance," Kishindo said, still quietly, before stretching, a little, extending her dangerous, razor-sharp claws, "I have to get into the spirit of the hunt to do well."
"This ain't a hunt, yet, though," the demon murmured conversationally, canting his head, a little, to track the three leopards, watching them pad along towards a huge, tall mesa-like structure that had to be the tallest rock in the Black Hills if not all of the Lands of the Spirits. "We're just figuring out if we can take these fuck-os."
"Mm," the lioness said conversationally, before falling silent, "fair enough."
The two were well hidden, laying prone behind a fallen log. Flanked by ferns and other miscellaneous foliage, one could easily miss them from ten feet away. Kifo's gun—still a robust, trustworthy BLR was rested against the log; locked, loaded, and ready to be deployed in a heartbeat if needed.
The demon tracked his prey, watching, coldly, as the trio vanished from view. The Black Hills of the North weren't very conducive to long-range survey, but Kifo had to do the best with what he had.
Sighing in frustration, he looked to Kishindo, and the lioness looked back.
"So… do you think we can take them?" she asked, licking, coolly, at a paw. The way her ears perked up high, though, told her companion that she was more than a little interested in the answer.
That made him grin.
But still…
Kishindo had told him what she knew of leopards. They were solitary creatures—they fought alone. That's why the White Sands were always able to massacre and capture them; because lions stood together.
But she and Kifo numbered only two. And two full-grown leopards and an almost full-grown leopard… that might be a bit much to handle. Leopards were faster than lions, if not as powerful or bulky. And in a three-on-two battle… that speed could easily provide if not a combat advantage, then the opportunity to escape.
Kishindo, though, had made it crystal-clear that this prey couldn't be taken the way Kifo took most of his prey—an all-out rush that eliminated any resistance before resistance could even form.
Considering, though, how much faster than them the leopards were, that strategy couldn't be implemented. What was called for was a methodical and well-planned attack.
"…Yeah. We can take 'em."
There was a pause; not a long one. Kishindo began to smile, sadistically, before nodding, and looking forward, scouring the Black Hills for her prey.
"Then… let the hunt begin."
"Makhlava," said the leopardess's mate, "do you sense anything… …anything…?"
Dato was sixty or so yards away, scouting out a potential path over the smaller hill that barred them from Spirits' peak. The adults, his parents, Makhlava and Sonam, were checking out another possible route.
As the leopardess propped her forepaws up on a rock, peering upwards, she thought. Brow furrowing, just a little, she shook out her spotted fur, as if a fly had annoyed her. Then, turning to her mate with a canted head, she spoke.
"I… think… yes, I do, Sonam… but I don't know what it is."
By then, the two dappled leopards had formed up in a rough, two-man phalanx formation. The male was in front, peering through the Black Hills with his hawkish, dark blue eyes. Makhlava backed him up, crouching, concealing herself against a subdued group of rocks, in case he was assaulted.
Sonam moved forward, a few steps, half-hidden by a tree that might offer him some protection from sight or some light attack. Sniffing into the air, he paused, for a moment, peering suspiciously ahead…
Eventually, he lowered his guard, and looked to his mate, shaking his head.
"Nothing. That's—nothing that I can sense. So, the White Sands aren't attacking, and odds are long that whatever it was, if it was anything at all, was threatening to us."
Makhlava sighed to herself as she stepped out of cover, hesitantly looking up, over their obstacle, she spoke.
"You know, Sonam… the more risks we take, the greater the chance—"
"—the greater the chance we'll end up dead," the male said, before smiling just a little, nudging his mate's shoulder with his own. "Yes. I know. Still… what's your alternative?"
"Why, nothing," the leopardess said, tongue in cheek, glancing at her mate in a sidelong manner, "I am merely doing as females do—complaining."
"Mm. That I can see," Sonam grinned. There was a pause, and then, the couple shared a brief, tender nuzzle—a precious, precious act. After all—love, in this day and age, was not only a luxury but an exotic, extreme rarity.
"Father? Mother?"
Quickly, the two adult dappled leopards stepped apart, but not by much. Though they blended into the rocky terrain behind them almost perfectly, their son spotted them in an instant—he knew what he was looking for.
"I've found a path," Dato said, smiling, just a little, in a shy, expectant manner. "It's a little difficult, and it might be dangerous—this hill isn't stable. But if we're quick, and travel side by side… we can overcome it. It's an obstacle, and it will not stop this family's Ascent. Nothing will, because nothing can. Our faith is as strong as we are…"
The young feline's monologue ended, trailing off. He seemed embarrassed—perhaps for wasting words, or perhaps for saying something that surely, his parents already felt and knew entirely.
Makhlava and Sonam were silent, for a moment. Then, eventually, the male spoke up, distinctive facial bones illuminated, briefly, under his soft, plush fur. Stepping forward a little, he smiled, slightly, and murmured in a low, gravelly tone.
"Fanatic. You'd be an orator, if the Black Hills were left to be by the White Sands, and if the Spirits took as much care of us as they did of the Pride Lands… as things used to be, in the days of our ancestors."
Makhlava sighed, and gently nudged the male's shoulder with a fisted paw, before quickly leaping out of range, gracefully, of his retaliatory bat, and perched on a rock, peering out towards where Dato had come from.
"Come," she said with a smile, persuasively, as the two males looked to her, tails twitching in interest, "All journeys begin with one step, yes? Well, now that we know where to plant that first step… let's do it. Come."
There was a brief pause… then the two males began to move. At first, they were alongside Makhlava, but quickly, cheekily, they tried to overtake her.
Things were relatively calm, for a while, as, tongue-in-cheek, the dappled leopards jockeyed for position, even as they started to ascend the harsh, rugged hill. Then, their informal race quickly broke down into an all-out free-for-all. There were no alliances and there was no plan, and, to be fair, the family deviated from what would be a more efficient, and safer path as their laughs echoed through the Black Hills.
The Black Hills weren't particularly kind to a single mother.
But maybe, just maybe… it was all worth it.
Maybe not.
"Quickly, Kifo. Keep up."
"Alright, alright… jeez, I'm right here. Never left your side, Kishindo—so calm down. Take a chill pill."
The lioness sighed, deeply, and brought a paw to her head and face, covering her eyes, massaging her temples. She'd already gone through the apparently pointless ordeal of raising three children—she'd had enough ridiculous, silly, stupid slang for one lifetime.
"We don't even have to hurry, if you think about it," the demon said, flexing a muscle, nodding in approval at its size, "I mean… the plan's not to take them on the go, we have to wait until they're in a position to rest, right? 'We must wait, patiently, and prepare ourselves, conditioning our minds and bodies until the moment is perfect—then, like an unseen, unheard snake in the grass… strike.'"
"Why, yes, Kifo, that's just it. Precisely—are you plagiarizing, perchance? I had no idea you were so eloquent."
"The fuck—are you joking, woman? I'm mocking you!"
After a second, just before the demon was about to gripe about how his only companion in the world had no sense of humor, Kishindo grinned, and looked up at him.
"I really had you going, then, didn't I? I really… ground your gears, didn't I, Kifo?"
The demon twitched, a little, so that the dark wisps of facial fur that had started to sprout up above his lip and at the bottom of his chin shimmered darkly. But then, he knelt, resting his hand on the female's back, for a moment, as he followed her gaze, peering at their prey, again.
"You're getting good at this, Kishindo. For a fuckin' grandma, that is. See, you can teach an old dog new tricks—eh, you know what I mean."
"Yes," the lioness said in a poisonously sweet voice, batting her eyes at Kifo, "but if you ever call me a grandma again, I will de-mane you."
The demon grinned, running paw though his fur, for a moment. It had grown thick, so that Kishindo's claws only barely penetrated it—an excellent defensive measure.
The Black Hills were silent, as Kifo raised his rifle, sighting through its scope. The lioness's eyes were powerful, almost telescopic—she could see things outside of the demon's eyesight.
"Where do you think they're going? And how do we know that they're going to stay together when they stop? We can't hear 'em," the demon murmured, "so we got no clear idea of what they're doing."
"True," Kishindo replied, as again, the duo got up and began to move, so as to not lose track of their prey, "but we have no alternative. They're faster than us at both short and long distances, and they know this land. I can't circle around and cut them off, so that you can pick them off from long range. We also can't allow ourselves to be sidetracked, because the Black Hills are huge," the lioness sighed.
Indeed—the northeastern fringe of the Land of the Spirits was gigantic. Lying to the south of the White Sands (the northernmost part of the Land of the Spirits), it was the size of the Eastern Jungle, the Falme Kindakindaki, and the Unexplored Regions combined. In fact, its true size wasn't even known by its residents, much less documented—to the east, it tapered off into the Forests of the Far East, and other lands outside of the protection of the Spirits.
Kifo bit back a groan. He hated—he hated being unable to let loose, to throw himself into a field full of targets and let bullets fly, free of remorse and guilt—he hated it. And yet… what could he do? It was probably inadvisable to go south, back into the Eastern Jungle. There was also certainly no wisdom in attacking the Eastern Jungle—he had every reason to believe that the Black Army and its Master were as bad as their word. Attacking the White Sands, or somehow circling around the Eastern Jungle to make for the Falme was similarly unwise… lions were, for the time being, out of his league.
Ah well. Anticipation, surely, would sweeten the fruit of massacre and battle, when it finally came.
Kifo gnashed his teeth, a little, and stood. He sniffed, a little—good. They weren't going to lose track.
Eyes burning in evil determination as he started to walk, flanked by an equally brooding Kishindo, the demon was focused on his goal. And he was not going to be discouraged from attaining it.
"Dear aunt…" he said with a bow that was significantly lower and more prolonged than tradition and manners dictated, "In the name of the Spirits, ever forgiving and powerful, and the Northern Deities… I'd like to speak with your daughter. Alone."
The lioness was middle-aged, but it didn't show. Like all of her sisters, cousins, aunts, nieces, and more distant relatives, her body was lithe but twisted with muscle. Ocean green eyes and a round face, unlike Akane's somewhat hawkish, boney features, completed the look of a dangerous, deadly but very feminine soldier.
Smiling in a somewhat exasperated, but flattered manner, the lioness bowed in return, and looked to the Prince of the White Sands, shrewdly.
"Akane, Akane, Akane... and I thought we were close."
"You have been speaking with my daughter for some weeks now. As our rules dictate, you have been surveyed throughout—but never, once, has any wrong come of your… thirst for conversation with her. I thought we were close—you even insist that I refer to you, my Prince, by your given name, not your title."
Somewhat embarrassed, the juvenile smiled back in thanks.
"We are close, dear aunt—this is why I respect you so much to ask of you what I would have taken from anyone else."
That was a lie. But so what? It served its purpose—the lioness practically beamed, glowing with pride.
"And people say that you're… less than masculine. You will take what you want, Akane… I think that's a very valuable characteristic for a Prince, a future alpha, to have."
"Well."
"I certainly wouldn't want to stand in the way of such a dominant, determined male, now, would I?"
Not daring to respond, for any answer he gave might easily give away just how deep his lies ran, Akane just chuckled, a little, feeling great shame in doing so, as the lioness laughed quietly.
"Daughter..." she said eventually, sighing, licking her paws, settling down for a catnap to wait out the heat of the afternoon, "Go. The Prince wants to speak with you in private… as you know, this is a great, great honor. Do us proud, girl… and don't make a fool of yourself."
That was it—the between-the-lines words of consent that allowed Akane to look down, and to the left, a little… and meet her eyes.
They were green, just as her mother's were. But the cold, brutal inhumanity that was present in all other White Sands' lions' eyes... wasn't in hers. As a juvenile, she would sometimes go with her elders on raids into the Black Hills, and other times, would stay behind to help Amir keep an eye on the cubs.
Simply, she was less likely to be found out than she would be in the future.
The two juveniles didn't smile, nor did they hold eye contact for long—not here, not so close to the rest of the pride and the slaves. They couldn't risk it, and there was no point in doing so—they had the rest of the day together…
Padding slowly, side by side, steps slowly quickening with excitement as their distance from the pride increased, they finally stopped, some thousand or so yards from the rest of the lions.
Then, when their eyes met, they didn't look away.
"Aoi…" the Prince practically purred, smiling widely as he walked around the female, slowly, "I've been looking forward to this day… for weeks. I'm so glad… that it's finally here."
The young lioness wasn't nearly as powerful as Akane, of course, and longer fur, obsessively cleaned and cared for, made her incredibly soft to the touch.
Of course, he didn't know that; not yet—sex segregation in the White Sands meant that contact between an unmarried female and an unmarried male was verboten.
But now, so far from home and its rules and its oppression and its rules… they could finally experience pleasures and emotions so mysterious and breathtaking that they were scary.
Stepping towards one another, closer, closer, and closer yet, they each looked the other over. Beauty is all in the eye of the beholder, and to each beholder, the other was beautiful.
Finally, they were only inches apart from being nose to nose. Under Aoi's bright cheekfur, Akane saw a rosy splash of red, due to his proximity. He wasn't the kind of male to prod innocent humor at that… and even if he was, he wouldn't have, because, he was certain, the same redness was on his cheek.
Breathing shallowly due to the excitement, they moved closer still…
And touched.
Their cheeks brushed past one another, as they stepped forward, a little, until they were slowly, gently nuzzling, minds buzzing with pleasure at this unthinkable, unspeakable action. It was incredible to think that such harmless, innocent activity could be so, so powerful… and so, so forbidden.
Sooner or later, Akane reached up, with a paw, stroking through the female's cheek. He held her head in place, gently, and slid his head off of her snout to peer into her eyes.
He wasn't a man of many words.
Which was fine, because nothing needed to be said, just then.
Leaning in towards one another to briefly touch noses, each feline let out a soft sigh of contentment.
Then, something needed to be said.
Aoi's voice was soft and delicate, so quiet that even from where he was, Akane had to almost strain to hear it.
"Akane… I've been looking forward to this, too. Because I have something to tell you."
The young lion nodded, and waited for the female to collect her thoughts. How had they found out about their shared affection…? He had no idea. All he knew was that from the time they were cubs, they stole secret, hidden glances at each other, that they did what they could to find out about each other… and that each was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the other was just as curious and certain about his or her own feelings.
"I know—don't ask me how, Akane… but I know that you… like me… feel that something about our nation, the White Sands… is wrong."
"But… I think I understand, or that I'm starting to understand, what it is, and why we feel like this."
Aoi's brow wasn't furrowed; there wasn't a crease in it. She was silent, though, for another moment, and continued even more softly, as if she was worried that they might be overheard.
"I'm sure that your parents, like mine, have told you that the Spirits accept, and even endorse slavery, as they can't protect us, totally—so, they allow for us to do what has to be done to appease the Lesser Gods—the Northern Deities."
"But I think," she whispered, before pausing, and looking around, fearfully, as what she was about to say was both dangerous and unbelievable, "I think that the Spirits hate slavery. That's why they don't, or can't help the White Sands. I think the more we use slavery to appease the Northern Deities, the less the Spirits can do for us."
"It explains things," Aoi said, "Over the past few months, overall, the leopards have found many gems and much gold. And yet… things are worse than ever, here in the White Sands. I know your father thinks that we're at fault, and need to work the slaves harder than ever to get more precious materials for the Lesser Gods…"
"But Akane...." the lioness said quietly, "I think he's… wrong. I think all the adults are. I know—don't ask me how—but I know that you, like me, think that slavery is wrong. And I think the Spirits agree with us…"
The Prince didn't speak, for a moment. His eyes, as blue as the waters of the ocean to the southeast that he'd never seen darted, back and forth. Aoi felt concerned, for a moment—had she offended him? Was he about to roar her down, or attack her, or worse, reveal her to the rest of the Pride?
"This is why things were better in Father and Mother's time. This is why it hurts to look at the slaves and their cubs. This is why, even though the Spirits know I try, I can't—"
"Akane…" she said softly, guessing his thoughts before they had even fully materialized in his mind, "I know it's hard to say this, and harder to accept it. But as the adults in our pride have been responsible for what I'm sure is such a terrible, terrible wrong… I don't think it's very wrong to… admit that we can't love them."
"This is an ambush."
"I can't afford to delay, or hesitate."
"When it's time to act, I need to explode into action, and I need to commit."
"I can't think twice, because there's gonna be no time to think twice."
"Shit—I can't even think. No time. I just gotta react, and do it right, 'cause I'm only getting one shot at this."
Listening, hard, resting against a tree, Kifo's teeth were bared. His finger moved, slowly, arm nudging a nearby branch as he noiselessly flicked the safety off his rifle. He needed to wait until the last possible second—if he moved too soon, the element of surprise would be lost. If he moved too late, though, a counter-attack could lose him the battle.
So, really, timing was key.
Now, Kifo was holding his breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Heartbeat increasing, pulsating with adrenaline and excitement, he tensed his muscles, storing energy in them that just groaned to be unleashed
"Ready… ready… ready… Go!"
The demon jumped from cover, and, within a second, snapped off a shot. Fuck! It wasn't a hit. So he dived, rolling, as he worked the action of his rifle, and took a knee to unleash another two blasts.
Too slow.
Kifo had lost the element of surprise, and now, his prey had vanished.
Now, he was on the defensive.
Growling a curse, he threw his BLR aside, and drew his GLOCK—better for compromised combat situations, such as in-your-face close quarters battle, or a paw-to-paw engagement. At this point, either was likely.
Leaves rustled to his left, then to his right. Kifo's eyes darted from side to side, but he didn't spin on his heel, after a moment of deliberation—that would be playing into his enemy's hands—she was trying to psyche him out.
This part of the Black Hills was dense—there was hardly a foot unpopulated by thick, leafy vegetation. That meant that there was plenty of cover, and for Kifo, that was bad. His target could hide from both detection and, to a degree, gunfire. For the moment, the demon had the lower hand in the fight.
That could change at any time, though; that's the nature of combat. And Kifo had every intention of gaining any advantages there were to be had.
Silence took over, but it was a tenser, more foreboding kind of silence than Kifo was used to. He knew an attack was coming—he knew it.
Still, though, the demon was taken totally off guard by the first move. He was pounced on, from the back—but his attacker was smart, and didn't grab him. Instead, she just slammed into him, knocking him down, and vanished, again, before Kifo's face even met the dirt.
Perhaps the assault was counter-productive, though. Because now, face soiled with mud and decaying leaves, Kifo was pissed.
Apart from his GLOCK, he still had a shotgun and his trusty blade. So, maybe, he could afford to waste some ammunition—it would only take a few seconds of concentration for him to get it all back, anyway.
Taking his shotgun into his left hand, he kept it close, so that it couldn't easily be knocked away. Then, holding his GLOCK outstretched, he began to fire rapid bursts.
Plants shook, leaves were sliced off, falling to the ground, and large, dirty divots were blown out of the rocky, black topsoil. The demon hadn't scored any hits… but he had cleared an area. She probably wasn't in the general direction that he'd just blazed away at, and she probably wouldn't be able to move without his notice. There were no certainties, no guarantees, but Kifo couldn't be meticulous and careful. This was the battlefield—he had to play the odds.
More rounds flew downrange, shredding apart another area. No luck.
Another series of bursts tore apart another quadrant of the battlefield—again, no luck.
But, as Kifo reloaded, eyes fixed on a certain area, just in front of him, he moved his shotgun, just a little—this was the final possibility. She was here—she had to be.
This time, the demon didn't fire a burst. A long, unpunctuated roar of automatic fire filled every square yard of the region in front of him with lead…
But still, there was no reaction. Either she'd taken a hit and accepted the pain and injury, circling around for another attack, or she'd left his vicinity entirely…
"Or I missed her—"
Just as that though materialized into the demon's head, the second attack struck.
This time, it seemed as if she had hugged the ground, slinking up behind him. She didn't have much inertia when she grabbed his calf in her jaws, and began to claw, viciously, at his shin.
Kifo roared in pain, and tried to move, to kick his leg free of her grasp. It was no use, though—she was heavy, and had a death grip on his limb. So, hissing as flesh was torn from his leg, he changed tactics, and turned the attack into a counter attack.
He planted his leg and turned, hard, so that his other foot drove into her side. Bones cracked as a rib broke, but she didn't let go, and, instead, pushed forward, going for Kifo's knee.
That wasn't good—if she took out his artery, he'd be finished. Worse, the sudden shove at his joint brought the demon to a knee.
Snarling, he refused to submit, and wrenched his torso around. Shoving her onto her side, he stomped, hard, on her underbelly. Though she gasped in sudden agony, she didn't let up—this wasn't good.
Now, panic and desperation were starting to take over. From the beginning, the ambush had been botched, and now he was paying the price. Kifo tried to pump rounds into her, but half the time he missed, and when he hit, he hit himself as much as he hit her.
"Alright, alright… I give up…"
"It took you long enough," Kishindo said, immediately rolling free, "Spirits, boy—I really have hurt you. You should have given up earlier!" the lioness said, surprised at the damage she'd caused the demon.
"Nah, I'll heal, I ain't a wimp," the demon said in a slurred, exhausted voice, as, together, they began to rub themselves, and each other, all over with a few tufts of Monkey's Grass—a special plant with renowned healing properties, that seemed to grow in the Black Hills quite plentifully, "And surrender's not a luxury I'll have when we face the leopards."
"Mm," Kishindo grunted noncommittally, "true."
They'd used rubber bullets, of course, and had both purposefully dulled their claws and teeth over the past few days. Kifo's were already starting to sharp again, though, and Kishindo's would be similarly razor-like by nightfall.
Neither of the duo was speaking now, though. Kifo needed to do better—if he couldn't take on one leopard, how were he and Kishindo to take on three? Worse, there was no way of telling how well the lioness could fight one of the felines—Kifo's form didn't lend itself to an approximation of leopard combat arts.
The mood was glum. Their prospects of taking down the leopard family were bleak, and both knew it.
Kifo's face was grim and foreboding as he sat, resting his chin on his thumbs. The lioness was tempted to assume a similar posture, but for the demon's sake, she didn't.
Kishindo was the veteran of more struggles than Kifo; one could easily make the case that her life was one never-ending fight for survival and pride. She knew how to be a leader, and she knew when it was time to do something to boost her forces' morale.
"I fuckin' hate surprises, Kishindo. This better be worth it."
"Watch your language, Kifo… and don't worry. It will be."
"Just hurry up. I got eyes for a reason—why do I have to keep them shut?"
"Because," the lioness said, in a voice that indicated that she was carrying something in her mouth, "Otherwise, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"
Kifo's lip twitched. He loved Kishindo, in his own way, but, at times, she ground his gears.
The demon's brow furrowed. She was up to something, sure, but that smell…
"Do you smell something? Something burning?" Kifo asked suspiciously, "This had better not be a training exercise or some shit…"
"Why, yes, Kifo, I smell something burning. I also smell meat, do you?"
"Yeah, what's—"
The demon fell silent. His eyes were still shut, but his eyebrows had practically disappeared into his hairline.
"Can I… open my eyes, now… please, Kishindo?"
That was disquieting. Who knew that a being made for evil could speak in such an innocently timid, curious tone?
"Yes, Kovu… you may."
Fire was a weapon that Kifo hadn't really used—yet—aside from the limited flames resulting from the explosion of a round. To be fair, though, its application now was not combative.
"How…?" the demon asked, as he looked, carefully, at Kishindo, confused, "You have paws, not hands with fingers. How did you start a fire, Kishindo?"
The lioness grinned, and looked away from her companion at her handiwork. A large, crisscrossed pile of dry logs with a tuft of brightly burning tinder in the center was set just above something… something so, so tender.
"I had no idea there were pigs in the Black Hills."
"That's because you're too… tense, Kifo. You need to relax, from time to time," Kishindo said, nudging against the demon's leg as she went to blow on the fire, encouraging its long, orange tongues to grow and multiply.
Talk about a paradigm shift. Ten seconds ago, Kifo would have sworn that he knew the lioness that was now indicating for him to take a seat on the trunk of a recently fallen tree. The demon watched as she shoved a few select leaves—herbs—and berries into the flames, before coming back to slump over next to him.
The demon, apparently, had been chatting with the lioness more than he'd realized. Kifo… was a fucked up boy. No denying that. But like all boys, he had favorite foodstuffs—barbecued pork was one of them. And though the Black Hills of Africa weren't very conducive to the sweet, smoky sauce that Kifo had grown to love, what was more important, really, was that Kishindo was doing her best for him.
And, objectively speaking, her efforts weren't all that bad, either. Obviously, Kishindo had never tasted any sort of human cuisine in her life at all, but from piecing together Kifo's few happy recollections, she'd made a good approximation of it. And since it had been so, so long since the demon had eaten a decently-prepared meal… the Lion Sheikh can't overstate how much he enjoyed it. How much it made him feel stronger, more comforted… and loved.
(Next chapter will be in Freak. Look for it soon. Remember to review if you're still with me.)
