The moon that had waxed near full the night of Naima's death -- an evil omen, that time in the moon's cycle, for it was when the moon was full that the pride refused to hunt by night, the kill often missed and precious energy wasted -- that moon had waned back to a dark orb in the sky -- a time when the Third, Hawara Kwa Na Mwezi, granted the pride darkness so that the hunt might be successful. Uru stood in the entrance to the cave where she had given birth -- where she had nearly been prisoner since that birth had it not been for Kinyamkela -- and watched as the virgin moon slipped closer to the horizon. It would not be long before the sun rose, first bathing the clouds that streaked the sky with the promise of the masika, and then touching the very peak of Pride Rock, always the first piece of land to greet the morning sun. Ahadi would be along soon to help her carry their sons to the promontory before that moment. Behind her, the cave was empty, save for the princes. Kinyamkela had, with the assistance of one of the pride sisters -- Zamani, Uru believed, that lioness having taken a special interest in the well-being of Naima's blood-daughter -- had taken her cubs up to the main cavern, leaving the royal family alone. Though all four young cubs' eyes had opened, each with a promise of what color those eyes would be past the infant blue, it was still, in truth, too early to have them incorporated into the pride. Even when the mother had agreed to the midwifery of her sisters, the cubs were kept within one cave or another, not yet being old enough to have free roam of Pride Rock; certainly they were left behind, usually with their mother though sometimes left alone altogether, when the pride chose to hunt. Both Uru and Kinyamkela had opted out of the idea of a communal birth and, if not for the fact that one of them had given birth to the heir, they would still be secreted away in a cave on Pride Rock, or even off it, until the moon had swung round to full and back to this pure dark again. But royal birth changed the inherent rules of the game and now the cubs would be out in the open once before their age would otherwise dictate.
Today, before the dawn, king and queen would take their children to the promontory so that all the Pride Lands might see and know that the heir is born and that the Four give blessing. Once, so Uru had been told, the ceremony had incorporated a shaman baboon to present the cubs to the kingdom. That had been long ago, and not even Mohatu's grandfather had been presented thus. Some kingdoms still had a shaman to perform the task, but it was, by the accounts of Uru's mother, who had traveled long before settling at last in the Pride Lands, a dying practice. Uru had never met a baboon who knew enough in the mystic arts to be ranked as shaman, and, she suspected, she probably never would, whether or not her mother's words were true. The baboon troop in the Pride Lands simply lacked the knowledge as a collective whole to produce a shaman; so any such baboon would have to come from another troop, and it was debatable as to whether or not said resident troop would grant them passage, let alone leave to stay and practice. True that the king could intercede if he so chose, but it would still largely be a matter between baboons, not king and subjects. Uru had not always been fond of the primates, finding them short-tempered and abusive even when you were just passing through without the slightest intent of hunting them. The shamans, though, were doubtless more placid than their less-educated counterparts; that at least seemed to be the truth where leonines were concerned: a priestess was always more serene and virtually without prejudice when compared to a regular pride sister. That was a matter of discipline, upbringing, and training, Uru knew -- the path one tread to become a priestess was not an easy one and she could only guess how her sister had faired on the journey.
The lack of a shaman did nothing to harm the cubs or how their future subjects perceived them -- indeed, with so many seasons having passed since last the Pride Lands' heir had been presented thus, only the old matriarch elephants could probably remember a time when the successor had been held aloft. As it was now, the kingdom did not actually see the cubs, since only a shaman or priestess could rightly raise them to the heavens for all, mortal and divine, to see, but saw instead the approval of the Four as signified by a lone beam of sunlight illuminating the royal family. Uru marked the faint graying of the sky where the sun would awake; Ahadi would be just leaving the main cavern. While the shamans were few and far between, especially in the Pride Lands, the priestesses were truly rare. It was not for lack of initiates, as they had plenty -- all prides and rogues could send daughters to the jungle dwelling place of the priestess sisterhood -- but rather that they were a secretive order and did not make public appearances unless they were deemed to be necessary under the Four. One did not see just any cub deigned with the presence of a mwana staarabu -- that was reserved for those who they themselves had plans for. The absence of a priestess was, Uru thought, recalling the Voice she had Heard the night that had left Sarabi orphaned and alone, a relief since it meant that whatever the Four had in mind for her sons was not, perhaps, as grand or dire as she had feared.
Tarnished gold, dually dulled and accented by the fading light of the stars, caught the corner of her eye and Uru turned to see Ahadi walking the trail towards her. There was no verbal greeting as their gazes met -- this was a silent affair, the closest either could expect to come to the stringent codes of shaman or, especially, of priestess. Uru waited at her post, framed by the solid blackness of the cave behind her, well aware that her burnished coat caught and held the dying night as surely as Ahadi's did. He stopped in front of her and her nose bumped his in ritual greeting -- it was a formal gesture, the more common and casual head and side rubs used on almost all other occasions when pridemates met; only strangers greeted first by touching noses, strangers and those, like Uru and Ahadi, who were participants in a ceremony. Maintaining her silence, and he maintaining his, Uru led her mate to where their sons lay peering drowsily up at them. Ahadi smiled at her, then reached down and lifted Mufasa by the scruff. That parent who possessed the royal strain always carried the heir -- Ahadi had been born to the throne, Uru had not, but if it had been the other way around, it would have been Uru who carried Mufasa. As it was, Uru returned her mate's smile, then picked up Taka to follow at his side and a pace behind. Several times since they had been born, Uru had had reason to pick her sons up by their napes and it still hadn't ceased to surprise -- or perhaps it was to disturb -- her just how much of a weight difference there was between the two. Where Mufasa was a robust cub, looking almost another half-cycle of the moon older than he was, Taka was unquestionably the runt of the litter, seeming younger than he was. Without it ever being spoken, Uru had known that those who had seen him -- Ahadi, Kinyamkela, and Zamani when she had come to help Kinyamkela move to the main cavern this early morn -- thought it possible that he would not be strong enough to survive this long, or much longer. Yet, as Sarabi had, Taka, too, proved them wrong and Uru felt certain in a way that she could not explain that he would live longer still. There was, scratching from behind the boulder, a whispering of Sight, which she strove desperately to ignore, that murmured to her that he would outlive his elder brother by several turns of the seasons. Something in its persistence to tell her made her fur stand on end.
The path sloped upward, and Uru could see the far mountains silhouetted against the pale gray sky. When the great glowing disk rose, the kingdom would assemble at the base of Pride Rock to know that there was an heir and that he was accepted by the Four. Rimming the trail near the promontory, spread out around the entrance of the main cavern, the lionesses of the pride watched as king, queen, and princes made their way to where the kopje jutted out over the plains. Many of the pride sisters were seeing the heir and his brother for the first time, and the look of wonder on faces young and old was enough to make Uru smile from around her younger son's nape. Lying in the cave's mouth, Kinyamkela silently nursed her daughters. The quiet pride on her friend's face was all Uru needed to know that, had it been permissible, she would have dashed up to her in congratulations. There were others in the pride who would have done the same, but they would have been more intent upon the princes than upon the queen.
Out in the open, just above where the promontory cleared the rest of Pride Rock, Uru lay down, placing Taka between her forepaws. Gently, she nudged him to one side, making room for Mufasa as he, too, was placed between her paws. Ahadi nuzzled her briefly before striding confidently up to the cliff's edge to survey his kingdom. Uru watched in awe, seeing him for what felt like the first time -- as the others saw him, as the undisputed king of this land -- witnessing in him the appearance of a detached sense of majesty, an aloofness that she had not known him to be capable of. She swallowed, suddenly insecure in the presence of this near stranger.
The sky shifted from grayscale to full color as the clouds swirled magenta, tangerine, and blinding gold. Uru lifted her muzzle, mesmerized by the kaleidoscope wheeling above her head. By the Four...and her eyes pricked with tears. Behind her, though she could not see it, Pride Rock caught the light from a sun that still appeared to sleep, bathing the kopje in a warm ruddy glow. The sunlight advanced down the face of the peak, until, at long last, the sun broke free of the horizon. Light burst forth, Ahadi suddenly engulfed by the blazing disk; Uru was blinded by the brilliance, her mate taking on the semblance of the star she hoped he would one day become. She closed her eyes, feeling rather than seeing the glow of the sun as it cleared the bonds of earth, and her heart sang to a tune she could not name; it was a cry to celebration -- to live -- and all animals within its reach obeyed. None could see that Uru's eyes were closed -- her back to the pride and her mate's back to her -- and she would have paid them no heed if any could. Her breath had caught in her throat and her heart beat tempo to that song her spirit knew even when her mind did not.
A sound reached her external ears and she reluctantly pulled herself away from this inner sanctuary she had found. Off in the distance, the call had been answered, and a dust cloud rose over the savanna from the tramp of thousands of paws, hooves, and feet. As the dust drifted upward, it was thrust back to earth under the weight of a flock of birds equal only to the herd marching towards Pride Rock. Never in her life -- and she doubted ever that she would again -- had Uru seen a sight such as this: all manner of life in the Pride Lands were travelling as one, without so much as a sideways glance from predator to easy prey. Even at her height above the surrounding plain, she could feel the steady earthen thunder rumble through the rock beneath her, and the wind blew from the flapping of so many wings. Uru closed her eyes again, breathing deeply of the life of the Pride Lands that thrummed around her. All these gathered here to pay homage to my sons.... The notion was staggering unto itself, but was made even more so by its truth. She sighed, reopening her eyes as Ahadi turned and strode back to her and their sons.
He stopped at her side, nuzzling her again. She purred; even had they been allowed to speak, words would have been useless for what she wanted to tell him. How could she possibly convey that jubilation of the soul that had sung so purely to her? It was beyond her -- beyond all of them -- and she could only pray that he had felt it, too. An answering purr, rougher and deeper than her own -- she had heard his only seldom -- and she knew that he had. Above them, the clouds drew aside and sunlight streamed down on them, forming a churning circle around the royal family. The cubs stirred, perhaps aware of what was happening, perhaps only reacting to the sudden change in light. They blinked, heads tilted, gazing skyward, fascinated by the movements of the clouds. Uru smiled and she, too, lifted her head to watch the clouds: they flowed like water, a river in the air, breaking around that point which shown pure rippled sunlight down on her and her family. Behind them, the pride was silent, heads bowed; below, the savanna had first erupted into a cacophony of sound, then succumbed to an equally loud silence, all kneeling before their future king.
The sunlight faded, the lone beam dissolving into many, and again the herd beneath Pride Rock gave voice. Ahadi rose, aiming once more for the edge of the promontory. At his appearance, the din grew quiet. Uru watched, enraptured. These celebrations happened only once a generation; how could so many who had never experienced one before this know what to do? Ah, but the Four keep watch and all know in their hearts -- their souls -- what is expected when in the Presence of the Sisters. A roar -- Ahadi's -- sliced through the air, carrying farther in the silence than it would have at any other time. The circles of sound were only beginning to dissolve when the pride answered. From where she lay, Uru joined them, and the sensation of being surrounded was exhilarating, as much so as when the sun had risen. There was reason why prides often settled their disputes with a show of vocal force instead of blows, and this, indeed, was it; who could deny that the pride at full roar was something to behold? Ahadi roared again, this time not for the pride, but for the assembled masses beneath him, and they answered as surely as had the lionesses. Uru knew that, as much as the sight of all those animals together had been a rarity, so too was the sound of them all paying tribute to their ruler at once, side by side, as one.
Ahadi came back to her, leaving the peak behind; below, the denizens of the Pride Lands began to disperse, aiming for whatever it was that they would do for the remainder of the day -- some gossip, others graze, and still others return to the hunts that had been postponed. "My queen," he said, rubbing his forehead against hers, the hairs of his mane tickling her ear so it twitched involuntarily.
"My king," she responded, returning the rub. Their sons watched, their wide eyes curious. This had to be so foreign to them, having only known the tranquil, dark world of the birth den up until now -- the sudden brightness of day was a shock read easily in those infant blue eyes. They would not remain infant blue for long, though, and Uru could already see the trace beginnings of their eyes' true colors: Mufasa would have his father's deep amber, a color common in the pride -- Uru could guess that Sarabi's eyes would be much the same shade -- while Taka's eyes would be such a hue as Uru had only heard of from her mother -- a bright chartreuse unlike anything the pride had seen in generations. Even though Sarafina's eyes would clearly be green like her mother's, they were not the same shade as Taka's, Sarafina's venturing more towards the blue side than the yellow, and, as such, not quite so rare for the pride, they having already seen Kinyamkela's eyes.
Ahadi licked the top of her head, then looked to the pride, a silent signal that all those who wished to see the princes were at leisure to do so. Uru hid her disappointed sigh -- she had hoped to get more private time than this with her family before the pride descended upon them. She stifled a laugh. By the Four, I make them out to be more like vultures than lions.
One by one the lionesses came, led, as Uru had suspected, by Zamani. Even though she had never held any position of notable rank -- she had not been a queen by any stretch and her hunting skills did not place her in the upper tier with Uru and Kinyamkela -- Zamani was a well respected member of the pride, most probably because of her age and forceful will. She was older than Uru by at least two cycles of the seasons -- Uru remembered the cubhood days in which she'd tried to entice the older lioness, just then reaching adulthood, to games, and got swatted for her trouble -- but was not yet a venerable elder in the pride; there were lionesses of greater age than her, besides. Had one of those older lionesses wished to force her way in front of her, they well could have, but then Zamani was stubborn and, despite not being of royal birth, used to getting her way. She was, so Uru had heard, also a skilled midwife when she was allowed to be -- Uru's adamant refusal of her help had been a blow to the other lioness's ego and, had Uru not been who she was, she felt certain that she would have wound up being forced into a communal birth, if only because of some guilt trip Zamani would have sent her on. Uru suspected, and Kinyamkela joked, that the pride was deferential to Zamani because they did not know how else to deal with her, though both rogue-born lionesses could suggest plenty of different ways, not all of them courteous or befitting of their rank.
King and Queen exchanged pleasantries with the lionesses, each in their turn, often finding themselves repeating what they had already said to some earlier lioness. Yes, it had been a fine day for the presentation of the princes. No, things could not have gone better. Yes, they are inquisitive cubs. Yes, Mufasa takes after his father and Taka after his mother. And, yes, by the Four, they are healthy. Uru forced her claws to remain sheathed so that she would not end up drumming them upon the rock. The repetition was trying her patience, and the fawning and baby talk the lionesses aimed at the princes was enough to make her ill by the second or third well-wisher. Where was Kinyamkela? If there was anyone left in the pride who she could hold an intellectual conversation with at the moment, it was her. Uru unobtrusively scanned the crowd of lionesses, not wishing to draw attention to herself or her desire for this to be over and done with as soon as possible so she could retreat to what little remained of her maternal sanctuary amongst the caverns of Pride Rock. Kinyamkela had not moved, staying with her daughters curled at her belly. Some of the pride sisters who had already seen the princes crowded around her, discussing, doubtless, all four of the cubs. Uru sighed, licking her sons to hide her disappointment. It was unlikely that Kinyamkela would get a chance to come and talk with her -- she, too, was a mother, and the pride would want to fawn over her children in their turn as well.
With the departure of the last lioness -- much to Uru's relief -- Ahadi leaned down and whispered in her ear, his whiskers tickling her, "Sometimes I wonder about that bunch, too." Uru looked up at him, perplexed. Had he seen just how uncomfortable she had become? And, if he had, had the lionesses, too? He winked at her, and she smiled in return. It didn't matter; the excited babblings of the pride had started to wear on him, too, and that somehow made it more bearable for Uru.
The pride would mill around for a while, gossiping and reminiscing -- the whole of the day was like unto a festival -- and the king and queen would return the cubs to the natal den, to remain there for another moon before being fully incorporated into the pride. The presentation of the heir, though first and foremost a matter of public approval -- and celebration -- by the Four and the kingdom, was also a chance to relieve the curiosity of the pride so that they would not be tempted to disturb the queen while the cubs were young, or so Uru liked to think. Ahadi lifted Mufasa for the trip back to Uru's chosen lair, and Uru did likewise with Taka. From out of the corner of her eye, Uru saw Zamani approach Kinyamkela -- they would follow with Sarabi and Sarafina, staying a respectful distance from the royal family. The two infant females would have, had there been no princes, still been in their den, since their coming to the presentation was solely because all of the pride was expected to be there -- only the youngest of cubs and their mothers were ever excused from it.
A thought occurred to Uru as she stepped lightly down the trail towards her den: she had yet to breach the matter of betrothing Mufasa and Sarabi with her mate. Ahadi had to be told eventually, and it would not do to let it sit unattended to for long. Perhaps once Kinyamkela and Zamani arrive, so that there will be two to relay the message to the pride. Zamani would be all too pleased to be privy to such information, and to be a witness to its being propounded to the king. Even if Ahadi were the one to tell the pride -- it was his duty and his right -- the lioness would still consider herself somehow superior to the others. Just what she needs, Uru thought, her sour disposition from the oft recurring questions asserting itself once more, an ego stroke. She shook her head, but only slightly, not wanting to disturb Taka. It was not kind of her to think of her pride sister in such terms -- she was midwife to Naima that ill-fated night and had taken great interest in Sarabi and her well being, so much so that Uru felt certain that her conscience was berating her Naima's death. In her own way, Zamani had made herself the orphaned cub's second mother, after Kinyamkela, of course. Regardless of what it would do to her ego, Zamani did have a right to know of the betrothal before the rest of the pride heard, though whether or not she had a right to know at the same time as the king was another matter entirely. Ahadi, Uru knew, would not take offense to it, and might even be grateful for being able to dump the more trite questions upon the lioness, who would relish being the center of attention.
Uru settled herself down in the den, placing Taka at her abdomen; Ahadi lowered Mufasa down next to him. Mother and father shared a quiet smile before Ahadi nuzzled her. It was a farewell gesture, Uru realized, as he turned to leave. "Ahadi," she called after him, and he stopped, one paw raised, at the entrance to the cave. He was puzzled, she could see -- he probably hadn't expected her to ask him to stay longer, what with how eager she had been to end the social aspect of the princes' presentation. "I have a...proposition to discuss with you," she didn't want him to guess her purpose, so she intentionally kept her words and her tone as neutral as possible, even if the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her.
His brow furrowed and, casting a furtive glance up the trail, trotted back over to her. "Kinyamkela and Zamani will be here soon," he said, the implication being that, if it were private, it had best be quick.
"I know," she replied, nuzzling him reassuringly. "I want them to hear. Besides, I've discussed it with Kinyamkela already."
He drew back, blinking in mock hurt. "Before your mate?" he asked, his lips twitching to keep back the smile she saw ready to break there. At this point he could probably guess what it was she wanted to propose -- what else was there besides betrothal that she would tell Kinyamkela about first? She smiled and winked at him, letting him know that she had caught his game and knew how it was played.
A pale shadow stepped into the cave, and Uru turned her attention to her friend as she padded towards some predetermined spot where she would rest. Zamani appeared not more than a few steps behind her. Together they deposited the cubs on the rock floor as Kinyamkela curled around them. Zamani nodded deferentially to Uru and Ahadi before turning to leave.
"Zamani," Uru said. Despite whatever misgivings she had had earlier, Uru did want the other lioness to hear.
She paused in mid-step. "Yes, Your Highness?" she asked, the title again serving to remind Uru just how much distance there was between herself and the rest of the pride, save, of course, for her mate and Kinyamkela.
Uru motioned with her head for Zamani to come back and join them. The other lioness hesitated, then walked warily back to Kinyamkela's side. If Uru hadn't known better, she would have thought the two to be friends. As it was, Kinyamkela was the closest one to Zamani's own rank in the cave, and it was doubtless more comfortable for her to be near her than Uru and her family. "I have an announcement," Uru said, looking first from Zamani to Ahadi to Kinyamkela, who raised her head expectantly. "And I want you all to hear it." There was silence in the cave as all waited on her, even the cubs seemed to be holding their breaths. "I have discussed this at some length with Kinyamkela besides debating it with myself, and I feel that Sarabi should be the next Queen of Pride Rock."
Zamani just blinked, dumbstruck, the mere thought probably beyond her comprehension at the moment. Next to her Kinyamkela nodded, having known about it all along -- Uru had suggested the possibility of the subject being brought up at around this time, she had just never said definitively when. At Uru's side, Ahadi leaned back, and Uru could sense his pleasure, and some relief, too -- this did, after all, give him one less thing to worry about if his queen had already decided upon the betrothal.
Uru waited a moment, giving everyone a chance to regain his or her composure or, as in the case of Zamani, a chance for the information to sink firmly into place. "Is there any reason that we should know of that would discredit her?" she asked, following that formal routine that she hated. Kinyamkela offered nothing, as Uru knew she wouldn't, since they had already raked their brains over this. Zamani, still too stunned to find her voice, just shook her head emphatically.
Ahadi leaned down next to her and whispered into her ear, "Well done, mpenzi." So, he gave his consent, too. He spoke her thoughts when he said for them all to hear, "So be it, then. Sarabi will be Queen when my Mufasa is King." For some reason that she could not name, Uru thought that the same formalities that so irked her sounded so proper when used by her mate. He was born to this, she acknowledged, and I was not. There was, certainly, some such training involved in becoming the king, and if there was, then Mufasa would be expected to learn it some day, too. Whether or not his brother would was another matter entirely, as Uru was not clear on what was fully expected of the younger brother of the king -- her mother had never told her, nor had Ahadi's for that matter, and it had been time since last there had been a younger sibling to the heir. Why that was, Uru could not say, but it seemed to her that most royal litters consisted of but one cub where there could have been upwards of four. "Come, Zamani," Ahadi said, making once more for the exit. He slowed a step to let her numbed mind process the command. "We have news for the pride." Startled out of her reverie, the other lioness got swiftly to her feet and padded after her king.
When they had gone, Kinyamkela sighed, shaking her head. "That one will speak of nothing else for days, you know," she remarked, and Uru caught the irritation in her friend's voice.
"I know," Uru replied. "But I thought she had a right to hear it, since she insists upon taking part in Sarabi's life."
"Oh, she does more than insist," her friend sneered, reclining on her side. "I'm tempted to cuff her if she demands any more of my and my daughters' time." The edge in her voice surprised Uru -- Kinyamkela was temperamental, without question, and she still retained enough of her rogue heritage to actively despise any unasked for social interactions. Though Uru, too, was rogue enough to do the same, as Queen she was expected to be far more tolerant; she had, with time, become able to stifle instinct with training -- it sometimes made her think of what her sister must have had to do in her quest to become a priestess, though clearly the path to the queenship was far easier than that.
"She does only because she knows no better,"e Uru tried to reason with her, hoping to calm her friend down. For all her own personal distaste for Zamani, both for her treatment of Uru herself and for the way she treated the pride in general, Uru did not want her to be so shut off from Sarabi, even if she was now Kinyamkela's cub. It was cruel in a way that Uru could not accurately describe.
"Someone should teach her better, then," Kinyamkela returned. Uru couldn't exactly argue with her there, since it would do them all some good if Zamani knew of ways other than her own.
"Still," Uru said, "she has never been involved in a birth where the mother dies; this is her comfort." Despite not knowing the more intricate workings of Zamani's mind well, Uru knew that to be true, without mentioning whatever guilt factor there might be in the equation.
Kinyamkela sighed and Uru knew that she had won -- she would tolerate Zamani's involvement, if only for the time being. Uru suspected that there would be some point later on when Kinyamkela would tell the other lioness off, quite possibly for good. But until then, Uru had done her job as queen and maintained the peace between the lionesses of the pride.
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The pride was doubly thrilled to have the announcement of betrothal on the same day as the presentation of the princes -- and triply so, I should think, because their next queen would come from their own blood and not that of a rogue. It has never failed to amaze me, and now to amuse me, how paranoid they are of lionesses from without the pride, while they are all too ready when the heat takes them to seek a male they may well never meet again. It is a double standard that I fear I may never fully understand.
Time was suspended in those days following, each one flowing smoothly into the next, an endless now that was both comforting and stifling. Kinyamkela and I often found ourselves rehashing the same topics, then joking about it once we realized just how many times before we had done it. Information from the outside came -- Kinyamkela still hunted without reproach, and even I was finally given leave to spend time on the savanna, be it to hunt or not -- but the rhythm of the pride was constant, and there was little change in those days. As for my own forays into the savanna, the cubs had, after all, survived and were healthy, so the fear of impending doom abated, and Kinyamkela and myself were glad to see it go. Our excursions -- mine in particular -- no longer made such an impact upon the pride as they had done in the days between Naima's death and the presentation of the princes. And though time seemed to stand still, sniffing the wind, it did in fact trot on.
As the moon swung towards full, I grew anxious, knowing that if the Second Chose to Speak to me again, it would be at such a time as that. But the moon waxed and waned while the Four remained silent. By the dark moon, I had lost all hope that I should Hear Her again. And, yes, I say hope, for indeed that was what it was. I dared to hope that She might grace me with Her Presence so that I might understand what She had meant that ill-fated night when Naima died. It did not occur to me then, but now I know that it was the mental boulder I had inflicted upon myself -- that one which blocked Sight -- that had stopped my ears as well. True that the Four could still Speak to me if They so Chose, but I can now see what punishment I was due for turning from Them more than I knew I had. But done was done and I had no knowledge then that it was my own doing that had prevented me from Hearing Them. It would be long yet, when crisis stalked the Pride Lands, before I was given the chance to rescind what I had done. And I was grateful for that chance.
But again I get ahead of myself, for the cubs were no longer cubs when I removed the boulder from my mind. By the dark moon after that silent full, they had begun to speak, infant words most of it: mother, father, sister, brother, and stumbling to pronounce the names of those around them. For all our misgivings about communal life, Kinyamkela and I saw the value in the nursery, since it gave them stimuli they would not have normally gotten, along with extra playmates should a sibling decide to fall asleep in the middle of a game. Despite his larger size, it was often Mufasa who was guilty of that, while Taka, as much trouble as Kinyamkela had predicted, if not more, would, after a few unsuccessful tugs on tail or ears, toddle on over to Sarabi and Sarafina to continue the game with them. We saw in those days the beginnings of their individual personalities: Mufasa was strong of body and of character, a worthy successor to his father's throne, even if he still fell asleep at the most inopportune times -- a trait that would disappear as he got older, though he always did sleep soundly; where his brother was strong, Taka was smart and it was easy to see even then why later the lionesses would call him an equal to the Trickster Herself; Sarabi had all the trappings of a queen, from poise and dignity to a good-natured tolerance of others; and Sarafina was the silent one, the last to start speaking, but never did she waste a word -- she was like her mother, though without quite the same fickle temper, I noticed and said as much to Kinyamkela, and, had it not been for her own sister staying and becoming queen, I suspect she could have -- would have -- gone off as my own sister had and joined the mwana staarabu.
The moon came dark too soon it seemed, despite -- or perhaps because of -- the days bleeding together. We led the four of them out to the pride that new moon night to finally begin to eat of the hunt and to incorporate them firmly into the pride -- never again would I or Kinyamkela be able to secret them away as we had. Sarabi met her other foster mother that night for what for her must have felt like the first time, Zamani having kept her interaction down to the odd meeting with Kinyamkela while she was out on the savanna. She was polite, I remember, and listened attentively, but I suspect she was not all that impressed, if only because Kinyamkela was not. The circumstances of Sarabi's birth, we had agreed, were not to be hidden from her -- if she asked, regardless of her age, she was to be told, and it was that night that she inquired of Zamani's role in her life and, thus, by default, we had to tell her of Naima's death. She took it well, perhaps because the concept of death was so new to her and she had never known any family other than Kinyamkela and Sarafina. Her sister watched the pride from the safety behind her mother's legs, but she too was polite when spoken to, if not a bit shy -- Sarafina's rogue blood was clearly apparent to any who knew just what to look for. As for my own little ones, they had had little exposure to their father up until then -- Ahadi both being busy with the kingship and respecting my earlier wishes to remain alone -- and were immediately intrigued by this very different lion, having only seen lionesses and other cubs up until that point. Mufasa's mouth must have been going faster than a cheetah can run, asking all kinds of questions, most of them expressing his disbelief that he would ever be like Ahadi -- that being that he would be as big and have a mane and be king, not quite so succinctly and certainly not just once. Even if he had wanted to, Taka couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise; instead he just listened, following his brother's questions and waiting for Ahadi to be able to answer through the din. We all had a good laugh when Mufasa tried to maintain that barrage while attempting to eat his first meal of meat at the same time. Even shy Sarafina found herself having to choke back her giggles so that she could eat. Embarrassed for the first time in his life, Mufasa grinned sheepishly at us and decided that his stomach had precedence over his curiosity -- he waited until he had finished his meal before resuming his steady stream of questions. He had to be told to wait until his father was finished, he was so eager to get back to it.
From there on, the four of them were the center of the pride's world -- when it wasn't hunting, anyway. There wasn't a lioness on Pride Rock who wouldn't let them play with, on, or around her, even if she had been trying to nap -- that is, until they got more boisterous. While little, a lioness could still relax, and even potentially sleep, with them around; once they got bigger, though, it was quite another matter. Taka's wit was, even as a cub, sharper and quicker than several of the lionesses', and he often used that to his advantage, either with some prank or with his ability to get himself -- and his peers, as the case may be -- into and, subsequently, out of trouble. It was all I could do to teach him proper boundaries, let alone stay a few steps ahead. As his mother I had one weapon that the others did not: I knew him like only a mother can, and often times I would find myself being the only one among them who could see through his carefully constructed alibis or smooth deliveries, which is more of a testimony to that agile mind of his than to any attribute of my own. My heart still aches to know now how he eventually chose to use it.
However, had his trickster nature been the only hardship that the pride as a whole had had to endure we could have considered ourselves lucky. As it was, nothing is so simple, and always is there some calm before even the fiercest of storms. Even without Sight or the Four Whispering in my ears, I knew that there was a tempest beyond the horizon, its thunder silent, perhaps, but there all the same.