A/N: To say that I've been negligent to my fics is putting it lightly. The truth of the matter is that I've been without Microsoft Word for most of this summer (read: until last week), and while that has stopped my writing, that's no excuse for me to stop reading others'. Before that, there was no reason for me to stop writing and reading other than slacking. You've heard this before, but give me one last chance. Expect at least one more update before the end of the month, and more reliable ones after that. Friends?

oOo

The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity.

—Andre Gide

"We're so glad you were available for the position—" Sansasha resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. It was the only thing that she'd heard since she told them yes, she'd take the position. There had been that first few stunned seconds of realization of what she said—and then the constant fawning which she hated so much. Such praise of her abilities, her intelligence, thrust upon her like offerings to a god. They must have hurt their necks turning around that quickly.

"So I've heard. Now look," she said to the small group of animals before her, "how long do you intend on keeping up this charade in private company? Reyn has told you the truth—your methods aren't feasible. In an ideal world, no one would be a glutton. Of course, in an ideal world, we wouldn't be in this position."

They looked at each other. ". . . Now when we hired you, you said that you could fix the problem—"

"I said that I could fix your problem. And what is your problem?"

There was more silence before one of them finally spoke up. "Aw, hell, it's Reyn!"

"Yes, so you say. I can ruin his hold on his herds, wreck his reputation, and have him run out of the kingdom for you."

"Of course, there is the question of why you would be so generous all of a sudden. . ."

"I have no ulterior motives. I'm not working for you for any reason of mine."

"So you say."

"I thought we were speaking candidly now? Or should we resort to your method of talking through our asses and hoping we understand a whiff of what you're saying?"

"You don't need to be so rude about it," muttered one.

"I do! I really do! Because that is not my language, nor will I pretend to understand why you use it!"

There was an awkward, uncomfortable silence before the one who seemed to be the de facto leader finally spoke up. "We seem to have strayed off topic."

"We have. Now is there any reason that you had me come here, other than hearing my voice?"

"We're very interested in knowing what steps you plan to take in order to dispose of the problem."

"Well, very simply, how would you like 'the problem' dealt with?"

"In a manner which happens to cast a somewhat positive light on the administration and its efforts as a whole, perhaps reinforcing our own policies while discrediting those which are less than favorable at the present moment."

"Bluntly," she said angrily, a snarl slipping into her voice.

"Er . . . we'd prefer it done discreetly."

"Fine. We're done here," she said, getting up.

"But—"

"Done." She left, not even looking back.

oOo

Kaata knew it was best to keep quiet—it had already taken quite a bit of effort just to get her father to start accepting what he'd termed as "handouts." If her mother hadn't convinced Rayan that it was the kingdom trying to give him what he already deserved, he might not have even come out. As it was, they were nearly starving because of her father's arrogance. Rayan the prince, the future king, had it far below him to work for his own food—nor would he accept it like a commoner. It didn't leave too many other ways to have it given to him. Kaata would often bring pieces food back to her parents, not saying where she got it from. Rayan soon stopped asking after his stomach started rumbling.

Yet it had been weeks since she'd seen her father happy. Her parents' marriage was one of quiet, strained endurance—why, she couldn't imagine. They had told her the story of how they had come together—both of them had been ecstatic to meet each other after their separation. They hadn't ever been happier, they'd said. "So Dad, I was thinking, they've actually had a few openings in the den—"

"No," said Rayan, not even bothering to look up from his meal.

Kaata sighed. So very, very happy. Kria said nothing, eating in silence, her mind elsewhere. It wasn't just the tension, it was the boredom that came along with it—there was no distraction from it, there was no escaping it. The jungle was a prison of silence, one which Kaata rarely found freedom from—she was scared of the outside, and rightfully should be. She was a beautiful young lioness, and in Daima, that was all one needed to be found the next day floating down the river.

But Reyn had escaped. Reyn was outside—and he had last visited two years ago. She hadn't seen him in all that time, and they had stopped talking about him long ago. It was as if he had been erased, forgotten—the only news they ever heard about him was more scandals of him defying the authorities. Kaata couldn't remember the last time he'd been brought up for more than a few minutes.

"Well, you have said that it's too hot and wet in—"

"No."

"Dad, you haven't even tried—"

"Kaata, stop bothering your father," said Kria.

"Come on, he hasn't been out in ages for anything but church, and—"

"Stop it," Kria said firmly. "We're just fine in here."

Kaata sighed and resumed picking at her food. A few minutes later she walked off, before letting herself fall to the ground, at least somewhat alone. She let the sounds of the jungle wash over her, her mind going blank.

oOo

Ausi hadn't been under Reyn long. It couldn't have been more than a few months. He'd come to Daima for the reason most did—fleeing persecution, or rather, in his case, prosecution. There was no question of his innocence—he had definitely committed the admittedly hilarious crime. Of course, that didn't mean that he talked about it. There was no reason to talk about any crimes in Daima—snitches didn't live long.

So he began to question Daba's life expectancy when the cheetah opened his mouth on an exceptionally dull day of guard duty. ". . . So hey, how'd you get here?"

"Walked," said Ausi, deadpan.

"No shit. Really?"

"Yeah. It's some amazing stuff there. Maybe one day, I'll even be able to run."

Daba sat down next to him. "Look, I mean, why'd you come to Daima?"

"Because I could. Why are you asking?"

"Look, I'm bored, you're bored, why can't we just talk?"

Ausi turned to Daba, his face tinged with happy surprise, delight, and just a bit of hope. "Why Daba—I didn't think you shared that kind of feeling with me."

"Uh . . . what kind of feeling?"

Ausi put a paw on one of Daba's, staring into his eyes. "I think you know," he said quietly.

Daba slowly felt realization washing over him, then dread, then utter, chaotic horror accompanied by the intense need to back away. "No, no, I—I-I-I don't think I do . . ."

"Come on now—you can't deny the way that you and I have such a connection."

"We do not have that connection. We don't have any connection. And my spot is back over there—"

"I don't bite too hard," Ausi said, his smile steadily widening.

"Yeah . . . I'd rather not."

Ausi simply smiled at him, looking over every so often. He hadn't seen Daba ever leave so fast when he was relieved before, Reyn taking his place. The lion walked to Ausi. "What's with Daba?"

"Poor guy bit off more than he could chew. Started asking questions about things. Look, I know he's your best friend, but do you really trust him that much? He's not exactly the most supportive guy around here."

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

"Well . . . just that he's going to do something we'll regret. He's even tried a couple times to convince us to just give up the ghost—join the Coalition."

"You think he'll betray us?"

"I—uh, I never said that explicitly . . ."

Reyn smiled warmly. "Look, thanks for bringing this up, but if anyone knows Daba, it's me. He'd grab it if someone put power right in front of him—but jumping through hoops for it? It's not exactly the easiest thing for him. He's lazy—he works off of others. I'd sooner expect him to tell someone what they don't want to hear than have him plot against us."

"Well no offense, but why the hell do you keep him around?"

"I don't—he simply chooses to stay."

"That's not really what I meant. Why not just kick him off and leave him with the Coalition? It'd make everyone happier."

"Your shift is over, I think you can go back home."

"Look, sir, if I offended you—"

"You're allowed to speak your mind. I encourage it. But Daba isn't your problem, he's mine. Just go home, get some rest. You might not get any for a while."

"Why's that?"

"You'll find out tomorrow."

oOo

By the time Ausi had come to the herd the next day, he had already heard multiple times about the new law that the Coalition had been going over—it required that Daima be separated into multiple pieces, roughly twenty in all. Animals could only receive food from the area where they lived, and would be required to show that they lived there.

Ausi was somewhat impressed by the law—if it was enforceable, it would cause at least knowledge where more food was needed, and if the quotas discussed were put in place, it might stop animals from relentlessly pigging out. Of course, that would have worked where had come from—animals had sense and restraint. Animals came to Daima because they had none.

Reyn's herd was exempt from this, as were a handful of other herds. The privately-controlled ones had grown considerably once animals had decided to simply accept the handouts, but that would only make it worse now. Once the public herd in one area was gone, there would be quite a few hungry criminals looking for a meal, and they wouldn't hesitate to fight for it.

After the law was passed, Ausi found the guard shifts lengthened and the number of shifts shortened. A few of them had to be laid off. "What's going on, sir?" he asked Reyn one quiet night, sitting next to the lion.

"Not much. You?"

"I mean what's going on with the shifts. You're wearing us out, you're getting rid of us—at this rate, the Coalition's herds will be dry within a year, and it'll be down to us. We need guards."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because this is a place full of psychopaths!"

"Not psychopaths. Merely criminals."

"It doesn't change the fact that just about everyone here is dangerous."

Reyn turned to him, looking him in the eye. "Do you trust me?"

"It's not like that—I just don't—understand what you hope to achieve by such blatantly stu—foolish . . . acts."

Reyn's eyes caught motion in the grass, and Ausi's head snapped to it as well—a lioness was walking toward them, a fellow guard, come for food. "Maybe what I'm doing is foolish. Quite simply, I want faster growth. Fewer guards means fewer prey eaten. When the shortage does come, we'll be strong. And yes, we will need guards. But I'm choosing to believe that, when the time comes, these animals won't simply rear up, roaring and snarling, and race to destroy the last of what they have. Maybe they need a crisis to show them just what they've done, how far they've dropped."

"And you think it's a good idea to dangle meat in front of a starving mob and say 'Do it my way?'"

"Is it logically sound? No. Is it intelligent? No. But everything I've done to this point has been."

"And we're doing great! Hell, we might even be able to move it out of Daima, worst comes to worst—"

"There's a jungle on one side, desert on another, and a massive river on another."

"We might lose a few of the herd, but it's better than losing all of them, isn't it?"

"So you're not willing to take a gamble on the humaneness of the people?"

"They don't have any—sir, you're worrying all of us. We didn't sign up to be lined up to be slaughtered. This isn't like you. Look, what will it take to change your mind? Something, anything."

Reyn said nothing. The lioness walked by. "Evening sir. Ausi."

"Yeah, hey," said Ausi, not paying much attention. A moment later there was the sound of the frightened herd. "Sir, you can't seriously do this."

Reyn looked up at him, and for the first time Ausi saw something more than that untouchable confidence. For just an instant, he thought he saw fear. "They'll come around. They have to. No one is that—wrong."

Ausi sighed, walking back to his corner of the herd. In a year's time, each of them would be faced with a decision: they could cut their losses and run, or stand and fight day after day, until Death felt they had gone on too long. He wasn't sure where he'd stand.

oOo

Daba wasn't quite sure what was going on—he simply knew that he was being offered a free lunch, a truly free lunch—Reyn's guards weren't exactly welcome around the public herd. Yet when he saw it was Sansasha waiting for him, it was enough to make him relax at least a bit. Since the lioness had approached him almost a month ago with her proposition, he'd found himself meeting with quite a few of the other members of the Coalition. He liked them—they spoke his language, for once. Sansasha, not so much. She reminded him uncomfortably of Reyn and his uncomfortable bluntness.

"Look," she'd said, "the Coalition has been slamming against Reyn for a year now—nothing's going anywhere. As a loyal citizen, I'm sure you'd appreciate spreading what Reyn has to everyone else—share and share alike. No one is closer to Reyn than you—you have a job of supreme importance. If anyone can get him to see what the Coalition is all about, it's you."

". . . But what's in it for me?"

He saw her lip curl slightly as she said, "I'm sure we can find something to do in the Coalition for you. After all, they always need men of action such as yourself."

Daba prided himself on a job well done—but it didn't help that he was running into a brick wall as far as convincing Reyn. But he knew he had something to do with all of the others leaving. Maybe they were finally seeing the light—maybe Reyn alone with his best friend would make him finally see what's what. He sat down next to Sansasha, eying the beautiful piece of prey she had hauled over. "So what's up?"

"You haven't made any progress."

"What? What are you talking about? I've made enough progress. I think you're just setting your expectations a little too high."

Sansasha groaned, rubbing her eyes. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with idiots . . . "Tell me then, why you have failed to talk the barest amount of sense into Reyn. Please. I'm all ears."

"Well that's actually a funny thing," said Daba, stretching his maw toward the meat.

Sansasha whipped her paw across his muzzle. "Talk first. Then you can eat."

"You didn't need to hit me!"

"You didn't need to make it so damn tempting! Talk!" she snapped.

"Well, I—I did manage to get him to get rid of a bunch of other guys—hell, they'll be coming over to work with you any day now."

"You mean the fifteen he let go, and are now working around Daima at just about every other private pride?"

"Uh . . . yeah, them! Don't worry, they'll find their way over to you. You know. Sometime."

Sansasha groaned. If her father was alive . . . well, he certainly did have some rather—radical ways of dealing with incompetence and idiocy. Of course, he never actually found a cure for it—but it would be amusing to have a bit chopped off of Daba's tail for each act of stupidity. "Have you made any progress with Reyn? Any at all?"

"Well . . . he . . . look, I don't think you could do any better. I mean, the guy's insufferable. He never just—stops, you know? It ain't right, it ain't natural to never take a vacation like that. I mean, you understand, right? What's the use of getting more prey if you're not gonna let us eat it?"

"Have you heard of this radical concept called foresight? I hear it works wonders . . ."

"You don't need to tease me. Look, I'm trying to be honest here. I just can't get what's going on in his head anymore. It's like he's different."

"You mean he's not the same?" Sansasha gasped.

". . . You're doing it again."

"So I am. Do you have anything worthwhile that the Coalition should know?"

"Er . . . not at this exact moment," Daba said, eying the food.

Sansasha sighed, looking away. Daba hesitantly stretched a paw toward the food, freezing as she spoke. "Tell me about him."

"Who?"

"Reyn, you absolute . . ." She took a breath. "Reyn."

"What about him?"

"Just start talking."

"Why?"

Her gaze shifted to him. There was no reason he shouldn't have dropped dead right there. "Who do you work for?"

"Ah. Well, um. He's . . . he's just . . . stubborn. And I don't get it—a lot of the other guys seem to talk to him fine, but . . . he's kind of aloof . . ."

Sansasha let him prattle on—it seemed as if he simply wouldn't shut up. Not that she exactly minded. She sat and listened, tail flicking back and forth as he spoke. Every time he seemed to stop, edging toward the food, she'd urge him on. While it was somewhat amusing at first to torment him and his growling stomach, she found herself listening more and more to his words.

"Look, we've been talking for ages—what more do you want?" he finally said.

"Well, you've been a good enough boy. Go ahead and have your treat."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Of course." She stretched, yawning. "Oh, and you're fired," she said, walking off.

"Wait, what?"

Sansasha smirked. Maybe this would be a good day.

oOo

"Share and share alike—that is what they intended, all of them. We were given minds, we were given hearts, we were made better by the gods. Our ancestors were feral, hungry and selfish. But we're better than that. Look at us. Look at Daima. For the first time in generations, we have begun to finally aid others," said Kasisi, the preacher pacing back and forth in front of his audience. Kaata watched him, sitting by her parents, feeling the light breeze play over her. Out of the jungle . . .

"We've begun to realize that we can live peacefully. Three years ago, there were practically wars over these herds. So much blood was spilled. Those of you who have come from the outside know what it's like—and you know how far Daima is behind. Yes, we have fraud every day, assault, rape, murder—but what drove all that? What drove every bit of it? The herds, and those that controlled them.

"Today you can go out and get as much food as you want. And many, many people have done so. What's the result? We're running out. No one's going to say it, but we are. We need to come together. We eat until we're stuffed, as if the buffet will never end. We can't do this. Everyone knows this. We can't hide it like this anymore. Decadence like that can't be held anymore. The needs of the community need to be put before your own."

Movement caught Kaata's eye and she looked over. A few other animals she hadn't seen before were coming over, sitting down in a group. She saw Kasisi miss a step, barely noticeable. "There aren't many of us that live alone. And while the needs of the feral most definitely were the needs of the individual, even they understood the needs of the community. The gods brought it to the forefront, telling us how we should act. Every law that they have declared, every tenet of every faith urges you to think of others, think of how you can help, and why? Because they know how we should live. They have seen the path of Daima, and I've told you this countless times before—Daima is creating its own path to ruin! These are its twilight hours, these are the days where we must either learn our lesson, or face our undoing."

"The Coalition took the first steps, whether we like to admit it or not. Under royal rule, yes, we were all citizens—except, of course, the royals. We all worked for the visions of one selfish individual. The Coalition has brought us democracy, a chance for every voice to be heard, a chance for all of us to make known our needs and wants—no longer is it we who work for the governing body, but it that works for us." Kaata was barely listening—one of the animals looked almost exactly like—yet it couldn't be.

"We've made great progress in these past three years. The disbanding of private herds, the dethroning of the royals, the installation of a democracy. Many want to stop. They believe that there is only so much change we can endure. I say no. I say we push forward. One animal has a breaking point—every animal. Yet with even one other to lean on, to support him, his resolve is strengthened immeasurably. Daima is no longer the place it was—we were the kingdom of corruption, of rogue, individual spirit. We need not live that life of debauchery anymore! We are Daima, the collective; Daima, the community; Daima, the whole! This is what the gods wanted—all of us together. You look around here, and you see friends. You find fellowship here. I'm only one lone individual. I can only tell you. You can tell others. You can spread the word, you must spread it. We just can't wait any longer."

Kaata nudged her mother's shoulder. "Is that Reyn?" she whispered.

Kria looked over. "Don't be silly, he never—" Her eyes widened, looking over at Rayan for an instant. ". . . Maybe we should go."

"Mom, don't you even want to say hi—"

Rayan was standing up slowly, his legs stiff—the sermon was over. "Let's get food."

"Honey, I'm not feeling too well, can't we go back?" said Kria.

"Mom!"

Rayan looked at her. ". . . Well, I suppose we could. I was just hoping to eat first."

"We can eat later. Maybe on the way back. I'd just like to get some water, and you know I don't really feel safe without you."

Rayan looked from his mate to his daughter's face and back again, trying to piece something together and failing. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."

Kaata sighed and followed them, taking a look back at Reyn, seeing the group approach Kasisi. Maybe another time . . .

oOo

Kasisi had been scared before. Every animal in Daima had. Yet when that group of animals had come, each one a leader of the last few "private" herds, he had felt his heart stop. This is it. I am going to die now. Yet still he spoke, the group doing nothing, simply sitting and listening, a few of them looking at each other. He had ended his speech reluctantly, walking off, hoping to get away from them before they had a chance to sink their claws into him—yet when he heard his name called, he froze. He turned, seeing the group surrounding him in a semi-circle. "And what may I do for you fine gentlemen?"

"We just want to talk," said a lion, sitting down. It was Jabari, leader of one of the far eastern herds—it was a good hour of walking for him to even reach here. "Very interesting sermon, by the way."

"Well, one works with what one has." Kasisi swallowed, trying to make peace and not pieces. His eyes landed on Reyn, the lion's face unreadable.

"Tell me, do you plan on following your own advice?"

"Oh, I wash behind my ears every night." He chuckled somewhat nervously.

Jabari smiled, amused. "I was referring to the part about waste."

"I fail to see how that's applicable to me."

"Tell me, what do you think brings people here? Is it the joy of your company or the food you provide?"

So it was about the food . . . "Look, I feed those that can't provide for themselves—"

"That used to be true. Of course, things have changed, as you have so conveniently pointed out. Anyone can go grab any piece of meat they want, anytime, free of charge. Of course, you nicely take away the life-threatening danger of catching it."

"Well, I can't take all the credit for it—"

"We want you to stop," interjected a cheetah.

"Look, every carcass is stripped clean, every animal eats his fill—"

"More and more animals come to hear you every time. They're lazy. They want a free meal," said Jabari. "You're becoming a drain—it's best for all if we nip it in the bud now."

". . . If this is a problem of where I'm getting it from, I'm sure we could work something out." Surely they must want something.

"We don't care where you get it from. It comes from Daima, and meat is quickly becoming more precious. Surely you of all people would want to do your part. For the community, of course."

"Of—of course. And . . . if I fail to meet your valued suggestions?" he asked, looking from face to face.

"We'll remember it," said Jabari sternly. "All of us."

". . . Just that?" There had to be something he was missing.

"We did say this was just a friendly chat."

"I . . . I see," he said, utterly confused.

"Have an excellent day," said Jabari, smiling broadly. He turned and walked away, the rest following. Kasisi stared as they left, dumbfounded. He almost forgot to breathe.