Uru lay under the acacias behind Pride Rock, eyes closed -- though she was only lightly dozing -- enjoying the relative peace of the mchana. Kinyamkela was stretched out on a nearby stone with only her tail tip not in the shade cast by one of the trees. Both were grateful for the reprieve: Mufasa and Taka were off with their father -- he had promised to show them the kingdom, both from the summit of Pride Rock and out on the savanna -- while Sarabi and Sarafina had managed to find entertainment without their playmates elsewhere. They had claimed to be going to pester some of the other lionesses -- though not quite in those terms -- since their mother had succeeded in growing weary of their games and Uru had passed on the opportunity to join in on one with them, citing her own boys as reason for her want for some quiet time. And, by the Four, it was good to finally get it. Her sons had managed to run her ragged and it was a relief to hear Ahadi say that he'd take them out for a day.
It was the third full moon since their birth -- a time when most cubs began trailing the lionesses on the hunt, even if they were more hindrance than help. For the princes, though, it marked the start of their lessons with their father. Uru had discovered that it was not just the heir who spent a lot of time with the king -- Taka, too, would be expected at these classes, much to Uru's considerable relief, as it would give him something to focus on other than pranks. Still, he had more free time than his brother, Mufasa having extra lessons that applied only to the heir -- he'd invariably end up spending more time with Ahadi, Uru knew, but thought little of it now, the cubs being so carefree. As for Sarabi and Sarafina, Kinyamkela's daughters would be following the pride the next time it hunted, which, by Uru's calculations, would not be for another few days. The pride had last made a kill a couple of days earlier -- an elephant calf that had become separated from its mother and the herd, making it an easy target for the lionesses -- and there was still meat enough on the carcass to provide them with a last meal tonight. Uru licked her lips at the memory of the taste.
A snort from Kinyamkela made her ears twitch. Wouldn't be the first time she's snored, Uru thought, suppressing a giggle. But another, higher sound caught her attention: a shrill dual-noted cry that came and went either with the wind or from the maker needing to catch its breath. Uru rolled onto her stomach, head raised and ears forward. "Kinyamkela," she said, dread knotting in her belly. Even if she couldn't fully identify the sound, it made her fur stand on end. Kinyamkela grunted, her tail lashing into the air, more likely swatting away a bothersome tsetse fly than responding to Uru. Whatever was making that noise was coming towards Pride Rock at a dead run. "Kinyamkela!" she snapped, urgency lending a harsh edge to her voice. The other lioness blinked blearily awake with a start.
"What?" she asked irritably, giving Uru a dirty look.
Uru ignored it."Listen," she said, tense. The sound wavered from two notes down to one, the second joining in again, and Uru realized that it was not being made by one creature but two. Kinyamkela stood up, her ears at attention. Uru, too, rose. It was close now. "It almost sounds like --" Uru began, but was cut short by Kinyamkela yelling out her daughters' names.
As if on cue, the wordless screaming coalesced into a mixed and alternating response of "Mother," "Mom," and "Mommy!" Uru glanced over at her friend, who had leaped in the direction that the calls were coming from, searching for a sight of her daughters, and possibly whatever it was that had frightened them so. Only a moment and they burst forth from the grasses and buried themselves against their mother's protective legs. Uru sat down.
"What happened?" she asked for Kinyamkela, as the other lioness was busy consoling her children, telling them that they were safe and licking the tops of their heads to prove it. She could guess, but wanted to make certain that this wasn't in fact a real threat to the cubs that they had just evaded.
"Oh, Aunt Uru, it was awful!" Sarabi sniffed, wiping her nose against her foreleg before huddling back against Kinyamkela.
"Yeah, awful," Sarafina agreed between her mother's loving licks.
Kinyamkela paused and nudged both of them forward. "Tell us," she said gently, prodding them with her nose. For all of her sometimes abrasive nature -- Uru knew the pride contributed that to her being a rogue by birth, but knew that that wasn't the truth of the matter -- Kinyamkela could be surprisingly tender, especially when it came to her cubs and their wellbeing.
Sarabi and Sarafina exchanged worried glances and Uru couldn't help but wonder if it was all a charade. But, no, Taka would be apt to concoct some stunt like this, not Sarabi and Sarafina. "We got bored playing," Sarabi began, sitting down in front of Uru. Sarafina followed suit and Kinyamkela lay down behind them.
"No one wanted to play anymore, anyway," Sarafina added, her tail wrapping itself nervously about her paws.
"And we were thirsty," Sarabi continued. "So we headed down to the waterhole." At Uru's disapproving frown -- they were still too young to be venturing out onto the savanna alone -- Sarabi rushed to add, "But most of the lionesses were sleeping or talking or something, and you and Mom said you didn't want to be bothered --"
"So we thought it'd be OK for us to go by ourselves," Sarafina backed her up, nodding emphatically. "Especially if nothing happened."
"And we didn't expect anything to happen, honest!" Sarabi said. What cub ever expects something bad to happen on some little foray to a well-known place? Uru thought, recalling her own cubhood. She cast a glance over the cubs' heads at Kinyamkela, silently imploring that they not get punished for this -- they had been sufficiently frightened into obedience by whatever it was that they had found. The other lioness met her eyes and nodded her consent.
"When we got to the waterhole we found tracks," Sarafina said, looking over at her sister.
"Weird tracks," Sarabi added. "They were all gross and muddy and it looked like whatever it was had really really strange feet...and lots of 'em!" She made a face, clearly disgusted by the thought of whatever it was that could have possibly made tracks like those. Uru wondered, too, what could have made them, since up until she had said that it had lots of feet, she would have been willing to venture a guess that they had stumbled upon hippopotamus tracks. Now she wasn't so sure, but there was still one option that she wasn't about to rule out.
"Yeah," Sarafina agreed. "We didn't know any kind of creature that leaves a trail like that." Odd, Uru thought, that she should use the past tense. That meant that they had actually seen whatever it was.
"So, curious, we followed them." Sarabi got to her feet and pantomimed tracking down an animal.
Sarafina nodded, narrating, "They led to the water's edge" -- Sarabi stopped and stretched out, as if she were peering over and into the water, not wanting to get her feet wet -- "so we looked for it. We didn't see anything, so we drank" -- Sarabi crouched on her imaginary shore. "Suddenly" -- Sarabi tensed -- "it sprang out of the water at us!" Sarabi squealed and leaped backwards in mock panic, racing back to her sister's side.
"It was hideous!" she said, shaking herself, probably trying to rid herself of the memory. "It was all covered in sludge from the waterhole and had at least six legs --"
"It was waving two pairs of them at us," Sarafina clarified, "and had to be rearing back up on at least one more."
"Yeah" Sarabi agreed. "And it was just ICK!" She made a gagging noise to support the claim.
"Did it chase you?" Uru asked. More and more this tale was proving her initial hunch right. For all their terror, there had been no real threat.
"Well, um, I..." Sarabi turned to her sister for support.
"I don't think so," Sarafina admitted sheepishly.
"That's good for it," Kinyamkela said, scooping them to her. "If it had it would have had to deal with me and your aunt." They nodded solemnly up at her, but their mother winked at their aunt when they buried their noses in her fur. "What do you think?" she asked.
Uru flipped her tail tip. "I think," she said, a small smirk on her lips, "that school is out." She shook her head, sighing . The girls would not be pleased to know that they had been had by her sons -- it would doubtless spawn a rough-and-tumble wrestling match between them, if only as a means of soothing Sarabi and Sarafina's battered egos. But before it did, Uru would have to have a little chat with both of her boys about it: they weren't supposed to be at the waterhole alone anymore than their victims had been and certainly there was something to be said about not scaring folks half to death for mere laughs. It was kind of ironic, since she could almost hear them laughing now. Uru blinked. "Speak of the Second," she muttered and, sure enough, in bounded the two troublemakers a short moment later.
"Good afternoon, Mother," Taka grinned, twining himself between her legs. "Nice nap, I trust?" Uru smiled, shaking her head slightly. What am I going to do with you, Taka?
"Hi, Mom," Mufasa pranced up, purposefully jostling his younger brother aside. Taka staggered a few steps before managing to get his disturbed balance under control. He stuck his tongue out at his sibling, who didn't notice. Snorting, he trotted over to Kinyamkela and her daughters, who had perked up at the show.
"Afternoon, Aunt Kinya," he said, greeting her with equal charm.
"Hello, Taka," Kinyamkela sighed, rolling her eyes skyward.
"And how are the two Saras today?" he asked, pausing in front of them, tail held high in a question mark.
"Better," Sarafina said quietly. Sarabi nodded vigorously.
"Taka," Uru called before he could say any more to them.
"Yeah, Mom?" he asked, bouncing back over to her. Mufasa met him half way, pouncing on him, and knocking him down. "Hey!" Taka cried, squirming under his brother's greater weight. "Off! Off!" He kicked upwards at Mufasa's stomach to make his point, but to little effect -- he remained pinned against the ground.
"Mufasa," Uru admonished and, with a sheepish grin in her direction, he released Taka, who got sourly to his feet, once again sticking out his tongue. Mufasa swatted him lightly on the back -- well, lightly had Taka been the same size as him; as it was, the smaller cub was nearly knocked back down into the dust.
"Cut that out!" he snapped, trying to regain his composure. "Mom's talking." Taka turned to face Uru while Mufasa, after scowling at his brother, did the same.
From her seat, Uru couldn't help but smile at the two -- they were clowns even when they didn't want to be, if only because they seemed so completely mismatched: Mufasa was unerringly jovial while Taka had a far more unpredictable temperament, easily going from willingly joining in on Mufasa's rough play to near hostility when he wasn't interested. If only he would place boundaries for himself the same way he does for his brother. "Tell me," she said sternly -- as if she were going to punish them -- watching for any signs of guilt. They had played this game with her before and had, she must admit, gotten quite good at it. "How did your lessons go?" she asked -- as if she had had no inclination to do anything except just that -- watching this time for signs of relief.
Taka tried to exchange a brief look with his brother, but Mufasa sprang to his feet and began talking. "Great!" he fairly bubbled. "Dad took us all the way up to the top of Pride Rock -- boy, can you see ev'rything -- and told us about how he won't live forever -- I didn't like that, it made me sad -- and how one day I'm gonna be king! I didn't believe it and neither did Taka --"
"Still don't," Taka muttered, examining a claw.
"And then he talked about how a king can't always do everything he wants -- I didn't see why not -- so he explained about the Circle of Life and how everything's connected and all and how we need to respect all the creatures -- from ant to antelope -- and...and...it was just so neat!" Mufasa was panting by the end of it and Uru wondered if he had managed all that on one breath. He looked around, possibly searching for a reminder for something he might have missed.
"Sit," Taka said, pushing his brother's rump down before he could say anything else, simultaneously flipping a muddy twig out of Mufasa's tail tuft. Uru smiled inwardly -- doubtless Taka had meant for that little motion to go unnoticed, but she had seen it and knew that there was, in that, all the proof she needed. Now all she had to do was trap them and, while Taka was well versed in avoiding such scrutiny and interrogation, Mufasa was far less deceptive and could not always be trusted by his littermate to maintain an impermeable alibi. Much as she hated to admit it, Uru knew that, in the end, Mufasa would be the one who, feeling guilty after hearing about the results of one supposed joke or another, would come to her in secret and confess, much to Taka's chagrin. Once or twice Uru had been forced to employ such tactics by making those results sound worse than they really were, which, in turn, made her feel guilty, too. To some extent it made Uru wonder why the brothers continued to work together when it came to these pranks, since Mufasa was not always happy with the results and Taka could not always count on him to keep quiet.
"And," Uru said, "where is your father?" This she could always verify with him, so, if they didn't answer taking that into consideration, their story wouldn't match his and she knew whom she was most likely to believe at the moment. She had managed to catch Taka once under similar circumstances: all four cubs were being watched by one of the other lionesses -- it could well have been Zamani, now that Uru thought about it -- while she accompanied the hunting party on a scouting mission. When she returned she found that some havoc had been done in her absence and that, when questioned about it, what the cubs said was not confirmed by what their sitter said. If Uru knew her sons, then at least one of them would have learned from that experience.
Taka shrugged. "He went off to take care of another antelope and hippo problem," he said, his tail curling innocently about his paws. "I do believe Kiboko's stinking up one of the waterholes that they frequent...again." Ah, yes, that is an oft-recurring problem. Kiboko was one of the Pride Lands' resident hippopotamuses and had a penchant for cool clear water...unfortunately he was not so fastidious when it came to his own hygiene and could quickly spoil the most pristine of waterholes. And, worst of all, he was stubborn about it -- if Taka was right, then Ahadi would be busy for most of the day, if not into the night when Kiboko would finally leave the water to graze.
Uru used that as an excuse to look worried -- as his mate she could well afford to dwell on how long he may be gone -- to lull her sons into a false sense of security. "When did he leave?" she asked, both to get a bearing upon when she could even begin to hope for him to return -- assuming that her son was telling her the truth -- and to see if she could catch them in a lie. She could have, had she so chosen, just accused them outright of terrifying Sarabi and Sarafina at the waterhole, thus leaving them to sputter while she lectured them on how cruel and mean-spirited their prank had been. But then she would have had to provide proof so that she herself couldn't be accused of jumping to conclusions and potentially end up blaming them for something that they might not have done. And besides, these little mind games helped to serve as a reminder that, no matter how carefully planned or executed their schemes were, she could always figure them out in the end. It was her way of telling her sons -- Taka in particular -- that they could not expect to get away with anything, let alone everything, and that their mother was still wise to their tricks.
Taka thought about it. "He left when --"
"When Haraka -- you know, Mom, that ostrich with an ear for gossip? -- told him that things were getting ugly over at one of the waterholes that the antelopes view as their own," Mufasa cut in, clearly overjoyed to be discussing their day again. "That was, what, around saa sita mchana, right Taka?" He turned to his brother for confirmation but got a very harsh glare in return. Mufasa's smile instantly vanished, his ears drooping. "Oops," he said sheepishly, giving Taka an ingratiating grin.
From where she sat Uru saw Kinyamkela smile and nod at her -- the game was up. Saa sita mchana was when the sun was directly above Pride Rock; it was now halfway between there and the western horizon. Uru knew that Ahadi, responding to Haraka's news, would have dashed off to whatever waterhole that Kiboko had appropriated without so much as a glance at the position of the sun. As a result, his sons could have chosen almost any time that they wanted for his departure and he -- not having as much experience as she did when it came to dealing with them -- would have likely agreed with whatever time they offered him when she asked. Clever, she thought. Very clever. "So," she said, her tone deliberately set to let them know that she had noticed that little slip up, "what did you do between then and now?"
Mufasa looked to his brother, still crestfallen that his excitement had made his tongue run faster than it should have, especially considering the circumstances. Taka scowled at him. "Why don't you tell Mom, Brother Dear?" he sneered. Uru would have to talk to him about that -- when something went wrong with the execution of one of his plans, Taka could be unforgiving to more than a fault.
Mufasa was stung -- it wasn't the first time Uru had seen Taka like this with his brother, and more than once Mufasa had talked to her about it afterwards, but it still hurt him and Uru wasn't about to let her youngest get away with it. "Why don't you tell me, Taka?" she asked him sternly, summoning every bit of her best no-nonsense mother voice.
It had the desired effect: Taka flinched and laughed nervously at her. "Me?" he practically squeaked. Uru nodded and he swallowed hard. "Well, we, uh..." he began, casting a furtive glance in the direction of Kinyamkela and her daughters. "Um...you don't suppose this could be a private hearing, do you?" he asked hopefully. It came as no surprise to her that he didn't want to admit to it with the victims right behind him.
Uru shook her head. She wasn't going to let him off that easily -- if he wanted to play games like that then he had better learn that he was going to have to suffer their consequences, whatever they may be. And, with any luck, it may even succeed in dissuading him from doing anything worse, she thought, not altogether sure what that worse could be.
"Yes, Taka," Kinyamkela added coolly. "Do tell." Uru raised an eyebrow at that as Taka squirmed where he sat -- if confessing in front of Kinyamkela wasn't bad enough, then having her waiting for that confession must have been harder still. Uru suspected that that had been her friend's intent: to make this difficult enough for him so that he'd think twice before doing something similar again.
"We, uh..." he began, stopping to clear his throat before continuing in a hurried whisper, "we went to the waterhole and pretended to be a muck monster." He coughed when he finished, giving his older brother a guilty sidelong glance.
Uru was about to make him say it louder and more slowly, but Sarabi and Sarafina beat her to it, springing to their paws and rushing the two brothers. "You...!" they cried in tandem, colliding with their dual once tormentors and now victims. All four rolled together in a writhing bundle of paws and tails -- with assorted growls and grunts coming from within -- before breaking apart: Mufasa and Taka running hard while Sarabi and Sarafina gave chase. They vanished into the grasses around Pride Rock -- Uru doubted that they would go far, if only because the ledges and crevices of the kopje provided perfect hiding places and means of escape for her two sons. She shook her head, having known that it would have ended something like that. Sighing, she lay back down, Kinyamkela grinning at her.
"What?" Uru asked her friend, feigning irritation. She had learned long ago that such a grin usually meant that there was something that she wanted to say...and typically it was a joke at Uru's expense. Why delay the inevitable? she thought, her eyes skyward.
"Oh, nothing," Kinyamkela shrugged nonchalantly. She leaned back to sun herself on the warm rocks. Uru stared at her -- that wasn't at all what she had expected. Oh well, she told to herself, stretching out again. What was it that some of the jungle bums said? Hakuna matata? It didn't really matter that much to Uru. As it was, there was still some time before the sun sank too low in the heavens and the pride began to think about eating again -- the elephant calf carcass was still there, so hunting wasn't an issue for the present. And the cubs would be busy wearing themselves out until then, if they hadn't succeeded in doing so already anyway. For the moment, then, it was safe to simply ignore the world and relax.
----------
A gentle prod some time later brought Uru back from her reverie. Blinking blearily in the dimmed light of the magharibi, she rolled over to catch sight of whoever it was who had roused her. She half-expected to see Kinyamkela, or even Ahadi, standing over her, but instead she saw, sitting a short distance away, a guilty Taka. He had his tail curled nervously about him -- an attempt to make himself look even smaller and less conspicuous than he already was -- and refused to meet her gaze full on. Uru raised herself up, her first instinct to go over and comfort him.
"Taka, tiba," she said gently, forcing herself to remain where she was -- her second instinct warning her that he could be intentionally tugging on her heart strings. It certainly wouldn't be the f irst time and she doubted that it would be the last. And that made it awkward for Uru, because it was these charades that she had little defense against -- give them too much credit and her son would manage to lessen the effects that a punishment had on him, but give them too little and Uru dared not think of the damage that could be wrought if he was being honest with her. "What's wrong?"
He peered up at her with round eyes. His mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but he shut it again before getting a word out. Silently, he shook his head, his eyes wavering timidly to the ground.
Uru watched him and her heart cried out. "Come on, tiba," she coaxed. "You can tell Mama." Despite how often she found herself having to discipline him for one thing or another -- most likely a stunt like the one he had pulled earlier today on Sarabi and Sarafina -- he could always talk to her. Uru prided herself on that one thing, if nothing else: she was there for her sons whenever they needed her. For Taka to feel that there was something that he could not tell her was a blow, a swipe aimed to shatter that image of herself, even if it turned out to only be a delusion in the end.
Her son cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, as if fearing that he would be overheard. Uru, too, looked around, attempting to give him peace of mind by supporting his wish to be alone with her. Kinyamkela was gone, she realized. Probably off rounding up her daughters. She let her eyes come to rest on Taka once more. He shuffled his paws nervously, disturbing some dust. He sneezed as it reached his nose and he wiped his muzzle on the inside of his foreleg, sniffling. She smiled dolefully at him, that small action only making him look more pitiful in his guilt than he had been before. "You're not...you're not still mad, are you?" he asked hesitantly, licking his nose apprehensively.
"Mad?" Uru said, surprise lending a higher pitch to her voice. It hadn't occurred to her that she and Kinyamkela might have gone too far in reprimanding him and his brother -- and, certainly, that scuffling match with the girls would have provided ample distraction for them from that reprimanding. Apparently not...she sighed. "Come here," she instructed gently, beckoning him over with a lazy wave of her front paw. He sank lower where he sat and Uru realized that he must think that he was in for another scolding. "Come," she said again, softer this time, placing her paw down so as not to make it seem like such a command. Slowly, Taka got to his feet and, dragging paws and tail, complied. When he was within reach, she scooped him to her chest. She kissed the top of his head, her rough tongue sending the hairs there in every direction save the right one. "What makes you think that I'm still mad?" she asked, nuzzling him.
She felt him bury his nose under chin. "You were angry earlier," he replied, his voice muffled as he spoke through her fur.
Uru smiled softly even though she knew that he couldn't see it. "Yes," she agreed, "I was angry earlier. But that does not mean that I will remain angry forever."
He pulled away from her so that he could study her face. She had noticed how he had a knack for reading others' emotions, thus better allowing him to mask his own. Uru could only pray to the Four that he would only use that talent for nothing more malicious than these pranks. But I do not Hear Them by my own choice, so why should They Choose to hear me? She shoved the dismal thought away, convinced that They listened even when mortals did not. "It doesn't?" Taka asked hopefully and Uru was snapped back to the present and her son sitting trustingly between her paws.
"No, it doesn't,"e she assured him. "It is not wise to remain angry at someone forever." This was a lesson her own mother had taught her when she was his age, and it was something that she had been meaning to talk to him about anyway. No time like the present. Taka's rather unpredictable temperament -- Uru suspected that he came by it from her side, since one of her two sisters who had not gone to join the mwana staarabu had been even harder to live with -- warranted a need for him to learn that while it was not a good idea to remain stuck in any one emotion, it was even less of one should that emotion be one such as anger or hate. Change was imperative, but only with control. This was, Uru knew, something that even priestesses and shamans were taught, though they honed it further than she dared to imagine and with methods she couldn't even begin to conceive.
"Why not?" Taka queried, his fear of incurring any further punishment apparently forgotten, replaced by his unerring curiosity. Uru had been right to name him as she had, for, indeed, he asked many questions.
She smiled at him and groomed away the dried tears on his cheeks -- she had not noticed until then that he had been crying, probably into her fur or before she had awaken. He did not squirm or make a face as he and his brother usually did whenever they were given even a short bath. "Because," she told him, pausing in her licking, "if we did then we would end up hurting those we loved most." She resumed cleaning away the tears and he snuggled against her as best he could. Silently she held him there -- silent until she began to purr, the simultaneously rough and soothing sound shrouding them in their own world consisting only of mother, young son, and the fierce devotion between them. If she had had the power, Uru would have made time stand still for that moment, protected from the future that must surely come to steal the innocence of cubhood away. Never did she want it to happen, but, inevitably, she knew that it would and she could not make time halt for her or her dreams.
Reluctantly, she let her purr die and, licking the top of Taka's head once more, brought the moment to its end. Her son peered up at her, a shy smile on his face. The light of the stars -- the moon had not yet risen -- reflected in his large eyes, now finally free of their infant blue to become that striking chartreuse she had known he would have. She kissed him again and he rubbed his head and neck under her chin, stopping just behind his shoulders; his tail curling up to absently tickle her cheek. Uru mouthed it, chuckling to herself, and Taka twisted around to stand on his hind legs, his forepaws braced against her muzzle and neck. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, a thin purr -- the loudest he could manage -- thrumming from his throat. She nosed him tenderly in the chest and he tumbled backwards to land against her foreleg. He smiled up at her, his paws pedaling slightly, and she smiled back. "Tell me," she said, licking his cheek and ear, "where is your brother? Did Sarabi and Sarafina manage to catch him while you got away?" Uru winked at him on the last, not wanting to hearken back to the interrogation she had given him and his brother earlier that day.
Taka laughed and she knew that she had succeeded. "Oh, Muff got caught, alright," he snickered. "And the two Saras were merciless when he was." He broke out into giggles and Uru knew that he was thinking of whatever it was that the girls had done.
"And you didn't help?" she asked teasingly. One prank was almost as good as any other to Taka -- his were always best, but so long as he wasn't the victim, someone else's could be just as enjoyable. Uru suspected that he had merely sat back and watched, laughing, as Mufasa got the brunt of the punishment.
"Me?" he squeaked, doing his best to look absolutely innocent. It didn't quite work, since he was smiling too hard, holding back the giggles. "He seemed to be doing okay." Uru raised an eyebrow, doubting it. "Well, I mean," Taka amended, "he was all" -- he pulled himself up and lowered his voice in mimicry of his brother -- "'Taka --! Brother, help me!'" Taka snickered, continuing in his own voice, "Of course, that was choked out between fits of laughter, since the two Saras were tickling him and stuff -- and how! -- so it wasn't like he was in any real danger."
"And, then, neither were you," Uru pointed out. If Mufasa had been in so little danger, then it should have been easy for Taka to go and rescue him. But, she knew, that he had said it only as an excuse not to do just that. She doubted that he would have sat on the sidelines had it been anything truly serious. Or so she hoped.
Taka snorted, "But he looked like he was having so much fun; I simply wouldn't dream of spoiling it for him." He raised his nose in the air. Parish the thought, Uru shook her head.
"So," she asked, "what did you do?" This ought to be interesting.
"Me?" he laughed. "I climbed the nearest tree and sat there watching. They were so busy with Mufasa that they didn't bother chasing me and since they're heavier than I am, they couldn't have followed me if they had wanted too, I was just too high up." He nodded matter-of-factly. Uru didn't particularly like that he would -- and did -- climb trees as high as he could, the thin branches bending beneath him. Always forward in her mind was what if something went wrong? He was safe, though, so she let this one time slide. To his credit, certainly, he did know his limits and never went any higher than those. "So," he said, continuing, "I stayed up there and watched -- boy, was that entertaining! -- but Sarabi was all" -- and again he did an impersonation -- "'You're next, Taka!' But they couldn't get me and I wasn't budging, so, when they finally finished with Mufasa -- he just got so tired that it wasn't any fun for them anymore -- Sarabi said that I'd have to come down some time. I told her that I could wait and that's what we did, while Muff caught his breath. Eventually, Aunt Kinya showed up and collected the two Saras -- Muff went with them. She said that the pride was gonna finish off that elephant calf tonight and that I should go tell you." He stopped and giggled nervously, "Guess I kinda forgot, huh?"
Uru smiled warmly at him. "You didn't forget," she told him. "You just didn't tell me right away." She winked and nuzzled him behind the ear. He purred quietly to himself. "Come on," she said, standing. "We're not too late for dinner." Taka bounced to his feet and gamboled along after her as they made their way back around Pride Rock to where the kill was being kept.
Upon arriving at the carcass -- located beneath the ceremonial promontory, hidden to some extent there from scavengers until its inevitable relocation into the open so that the site could be cleaned by those same scavengers -- Uru noticed that the majority of the pride had finished and that, as such, there was little left for her and her youngest son. Of her elder son, she spotted him sprawled lethargically near Sarabi, the two of them lazily batting a piece of rib bone back and forth between them -- by their slow movements, Uru guessed that they had successfully gorged themselves. However, the one who had truly eaten herself to a standstill was little Sarafina, collapsed into sleep on top of the calf's ribcage, the hide stretching under her weight. Uru smiled to herself, shaking her head -- it was no secret that leonines could sleep in almost any locale, and in some of the oddest positions at that, at almost any time. It was, Uru reflected, one of the benefits of being the dominant predator in a region. She scanned the scene, Taka standing between her forepaws, waiting for her signal to proceed. There was no need, really, to pause -- she was queen, after all, and a mother besides; there were few who would have dared to challenge her right to a kill. As it was, the others were so preoccupied with digesting that she somewhat doubted that they would have roused themselves to so much as look at her had she been a rogue in their midst. Ah, but I am, she mused despondently, taking in the scene of pridal bliss before her. Zamani, only half awake, was keeping a drowsy eye on Mufasa and, particularly, Sarabi. Though she had stopped pestering Kinyamkela to the point of the latter being tempted to cuff her, Zamani had maintained, for good or ill, a fixed interest in Sarabi's life. Her mind drawn to her friend, Uru sought out Kinyamkela, her eyes scanning the assembled lionesses. She found her reclining on her back, her forepaws folded against her chest and her hind paws in the air, not far from a group comprised of the three season sisters -- Nafasi, Wahedi, Amani -- gossiping amongst themselves, though Uru guessed that Kinyamkela, for all her apparent lassitude, was listening to every word. On the fringe -- in the interest of escaping the chattering threesome -- the two elder sisters, Bora and Tulizana, licked away the last traces of their meals from their paws and faces. For a moment, Uru was struck by a pang of isolation, recalling how distant all of them -- save for Kinyamkela and the cubs -- were to her. She dismissed the feeling with a flip of her tail tuft and, prodding Taka with her nose, moved towards the carcass to claim her share.
From the corner of her eye, Uru caught a movement. She turned to see that Mufasa had raised his head to watch her. Having gotten her attention, he smiled in greeting, too full to get up. She smiled back, understanding. He went back to his game with Sarabi while Uru turned her focus to the matter at paw: eating.
Taka had beaten her to the carcass and was already hip-deep in elephant abdomen, his tail the only thing indicating that he was even there. Shaking her head, a bemused smile on her muzzle, she gently nudged the sleeping Sarafina. Uru would have been content to let her remain there, except that the state of the carcass would doubtlessly require some significant work to get a decent meal out of, and thus the cub would be displaced far less courteously than if she were awakened now. Sarafina blinked groggily at her, her off-green eyes bleary with sleep and its resultant confusion. "Sorry, mwana," Uru told her sympathetically, purposefully using the word that meant both lady and child. There was little doubt in her mind that Sarafina had the potential to be a priestess in the same way that her sister Sarabi had the potential to be a queen. "You'll have to settle somewhere else for the time being."
Sarafina blinked at her again, her eyes clearing only marginally. "I do?" she asked drowsily.
Uru nodded and Sarafina slowly got to her feet, fighting with sluggish paws for balance on the shifting skin over the ribcage. Knowing that the cub was too torpid to get down without help, Uru got a hold of her nape and lowered her safely to the ground. "Your mother's that way," she said, directing her tired niece with a nudge towards Kinyamkela.
Content, Uru returned her attention to acquiring a sufficient dinner from the depleted carcass. It wasn't easy -- requiring far more grunt work than she would have liked -- but she managed, and so, too, did Taka, his smaller size and muzzle allowing him access to scraps that she would have -- and had -- given up on. As she could well have expected, Taka finished first and, belly full, padded over to where his brother was playing with Sarabi. Uru watched, suppressing a giggle as he flopped down next to them and made a half-hearted swat at Mufasa's ear. The ear twitched, but little more, and all three were too lazy to follow-up on the game -- the rib fragment began to pass idly between them instead. Zamani roused herself enough to see that nothing was amiss, her eyes flitting quickly to Uru, before settling back into her previous vigil. Uru ignored her -- it was hardly a conversation that Zamani had been looking for, anyway -- and when she herself was finally satisfied, she walked over to Kinyamkela, who was, for all the Four, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. The three season sisters, however, were not and their talk gradually died down as she approached. Again Uru felt the pang of isolation, but it was banished by a question from Amani, always the most inclined to speak directly to her, save possibly for Zamani, if only because of the latter's domineering nature.
"Should we clear the kill?" she asked, perhaps misinterpreting the intent of Uru's approach -- she had merely wished to ask Kinyamkela if Ahadi had returned yet.
Distracted out of her thoughts, Uru paused, gazing at Amani and her two companions -- they shifted uncomfortably in the interim -- then back at what little remained of the carcass. "There's not much left on that, is there?" she asked, the question posed more for herself than for the others.
"Yes, bibie," Amani agreed, and Uru winced inwardly at the formal -- however respectful -- address. It formed a barrier between her and the pride, a barrier that she was so conditioned to that she reflexively drew about her the aura of reserved matriarch. It was, she knew, how these pride-born lionesses expected a rogue to act, especially one who had usurped them to become their queen. If only they knew otherwise, Uru pined, thinking of all the times she had tried to connect with them and had failed. Had they grown up together as cubs perhaps it would have been different, but they were a good two cycles of the seasons older than she and had thus been concerned with things more important than playing with cubs -- namely, proving themselves capable in the hunt.
"If you would," Uru said, answering Amani's earlier question, and so preoccupied with her own dismal thoughts that Uru was certain that the three -- and any others who were listening -- would take it for that same reserved sense of matriarchy that they so demanded of her. Amani nodded and, wordlessly, she and the others rose to remove the carcass, nodding deferentially as they passed Uru by. Uru sighed -- no matter how often she had to hide her nature behind that illusion, it never got any easier.
"Life's not fair, is it?" Kinyamkela asked suddenly and Uru turned to her. She still had her eyes closed and paws folded, but the amused flip of her tail told Uru that she was as awake as she had originally suspected; doubtless she had heard every word.
"No, I suppose it's not," Uru sighed, her attention going once again to the three season sisters as they dragged the carcass out from under the promontory -- the cubs watched, mildly interested, judging by the set of their ears and the length of time it took before they got bored, which wasn't very long. She had known since cubhood -- due to her mother's teachings -- that life was seldom fair, but to hear it spoken now in confirmation of those teachings was hardly a consolation.
"Such are the Four," her friend said, rolling onto her side, finally breaking her ruse of relaxation. That, too, was true, and no more comforting to Uru. Though, I suppose, it should be. She sighed again, letting her gaze fall once more upon the lioness at her side. Kinyamkela raised an eyebrow expectantly -- did she suspect that Uru had come to see her, as opposed to giving orders to the others? Uru could only wonder, but they had known each other since as far back as each could remember, and she could guess that her friend knew her better than that.
Inwardly thankful for a distraction from her dejected thoughts, Uru managed a reluctant smile. "You haven't seen Ahadi yet, by any chance?" He was always so busy; it would be a relief to be able to spend some time with him again. Certainly she and her sons were as deserving of his attention as the rest of the kingdom.
"Still off chasing antelopes and hippos, I'm afraid," Kinyamkela said, giving her paw one more post-dinner lick. Uru's ears drooped, not caring if her disappointment showed so clearly. "Though," her friend continued -- probably catching that display -- with a quick glance at the sky, "by this time Kiboko should be out of that waterhole. I'd guess he'd be finishing up right around now."
Uru nodded. Kinyamkela was right, of course, in that whatever mess there was to clean up between the antelopes and Kiboko would be almost gone, at least for tonight anyway. What she didn't know -- or possibly didn't say -- was that it was just as likely, if not more so, for Ahadi to be called off to handle some other problem afterwards as it was for him to come home. There was, Uru knew, little reason to wait up; the site had been cleared and there would be no hunt tonight -- the rhythm of the pride demanded sleep now to conserve energy for when they would need it next. Quietly, she bid Kinyamkela good night and went to fetch her sons. Mufasa had, by this point, digested enough of his meal to manage toddling along behind her, but Taka had to be carried. They were getting big, she reflected, picking her younger son up. In another moon-cycle she wouldn't be able to transport them like this, save possibly for short distances. Or, she amended, at least Taka she would still be able to manage short distances, but Mufasa was a strain on her neck and jaws even now; in another moon it would be impossible to have hoisted him even as short a distance as from beneath the promontory to the communal cave. Her sons were growing up, much as she was loath to admit it.
"Bibie?" came the voice of one of the lionesses from behind her. Uru turned, placing Taka on the ground in front of her so that she was free to talk if the need arose. It was Bora, one of the senior lionesses of the pride. "When do we hunt next?" she asked. Sensible Bora, Uru ruminated, considering her, always thinking ahead.
Uru glanced skyward at the full moon that hung huge and pale gold amongst the stars -- there would be no luck hunting with that celestial presence; they would have to wait. "We can scout as soon as tomorrow night," she said, evaluating the now-waning light, "but we won't hunt until the moon is not so bright as to betray us." Bora nodded, accepting that. Even if the pride had possessed no knowledge of the Four -- which Uru knew was not true, though they knew far less than she or Kinyamkela -- common sense could have told them just as easily that a full moon spoiled the hunt.
"Will we be coming?" a small voice next to her inquired shyly. Uru looked down to see Sarabi peering up at her hopefully. The cubs were technically old enough to follow the pride and thus begin their hunting lessons, even if the odds were that they would pay little attention and be even less help.
"We'll see," Uru said noncommittally, smiling down at her niece. If the scouting reports were good, the cubs could certainly come along. But, if the prey promised to be more dangerous than most -- another elephant calf, perhaps, or a Cape buffalo -- they would have to wait until a more fortuitous hunt.
However Sarabi had chosen to take her answer, she seemed to be pleased by it, breaking into a broad grin. Uru, still smiling, lifted Taka back up off the ground and, the pride in tow, continued on to the communal cave.