Arapmoi's Arrival (Open)

It was early morning and Arapmoi had been up, walking long before the sun had risen. He watched with half interest as the world around him began to change. The sweet smelling, lush grass of the Lowlands which was soft to the paw slowly gave way to the tall dry grasses of the Savannah. The grass rustled loudly in his ears as it brushed his sides and tangled in his long dark mane. ‘Oh great!’ he thought begrudged as he shook loose and glanced skyward in search of the tops. The sky was barely visible, a thing he was grateful for only after the scent of water buffalo and musk of territory markings came his way.

“Best tread lightly!” he smiled. Hunkering low to the ground, the lean muscled lion continued until the grass gave way to a hard earthed scrub.
He pawed the cracked ground with a claw. It was clear that all the water from previous rains had been readily dunk by the thorny bushes scattered before him. Arapmoi glanced back, he wasn’t leaving anything behind him, nor was he journeying to anything in particular, but still he glanced back.

Shrugging off his uncertainty Arapmoi chose to continue on in his North-West direction as the day went on. A playful song his mother had teased him with as a cub hummed from his lips as he glanced about. He was completely alone as far as he could see, save for a giraffe many strides down wind. A grin broke out on his face as his hum turned into song.

“The monkey on the rock he looks at me and ‘Scree, scree, scree!’ I nod with joy ‘Make a king of me over all that you see! The bird in the tree he looks at me and ‘Scree, scree, scree!’ I roar with joy ‘Make a king of me over all that you see!’” Arapmoi sang as the sun baked earth diminished as it became soft and less hard packed. “Sandy furred and silky purred she looked to me and ‘Hee, hee, hee!’ I blushed and called, ‘Make a king of me, and over all that you be and you shall be my queen!’”

He laughed shaking his head, it was such a silly song and he’d been so embraced by it as a cub. As he walked on the earth became noticeably sandy, with less and less vegetation. Finally he found himself standing perplexed in the late afternoon as he looked at a large expanse of mud. “Well,” he said to himself as he breathed deeply in search of territory markings. “I don’t smell any males, and mud means water!” His lips soon curled with disgust however, the muck was deeper than it had looked and the fur up to his belly was caked in it as he trudged on. He seriously wondered if he would ever be able to get clean again!

Besides the trouble with that rogue who attacked Vumbi, whom they were never able to track down before his trail went cold and out of their territory, the Desertlands had been pretty quiet the past few months. Still, the queen had recently been feeling... older. The lioness was slowly but certainly reaching seven years, a number she hadn’t honestly expected to live. Sure, lions were known to reach almost 20 full seasons, but that’s if they were lucky and lived in prosperous lands. In Quanna’s experience, the harsh terrain of the desert, no matter how accustomed one was to it, could cut that number in half. She had reigned for almost three years now over the lands she inherited from her parents, and was still surprised the Great Spirit did not see fit to send any wandering rogue ready to force himself into the place of king. Their pride lacked males of a fit age to serve as king alongside Quanna, and it was rare for many to find their little pride. She hadn’t needed a king to competently reign, the last three years proved that, but she had still wished to carry on her parent’s royal line and have cubs of her own. The Desertlands seemed to be a more rag-tag band of a few lionesses and adopted cubs, as Quanna happily allowed abandoned cubs to stay with them, all the lionesses raising them as their own. And it seemed that was what the Great Spirited wanted from her, as she wondered how much longer she would even be able to bare cubs.

But the lioness rarely dwelled on such things, at least not for any length of time. She had learned to take things as they came, plan to the best of their abilities, but always be able to adapt to the circumstances presented. To be ever changing, just like the sands of the desert. Traditions were still something set in strong stone, but in general, Quanna found little reason to try and argue with life. She was content, or did her best to be. And that included being content with her duties, which today included inspecting her land. The rest of her pride was somewhat scattered but nearby so if any were to get into trouble, they could reconvene quickly enough. That was what had brought her padding near the mucklands along the edge of the Desertlands.

Not many tended to linger here, except for cubs who were looking for trouble thinking it adventurous, as the terrain was difficult to get through and being neutral territory, carried the threat of wandering trouble. So the queen was surprised when caught sight and scent of a strange lion trying to make his way through the muck, as if looking for water. Quanna gave a sympathetic smile as she padded down the small dune leading to the edge of the muck, watching the stranger in some amusement. He was already caked with mud, but he seemed big enough to be able to get out, if it was rather slow going.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to find any water here, the Mucklands are just that. Muck.” Quanna explained in her low, easy voice, standing at the edge, her posture speaking for her royal status. She was not one to jump to conclusions, especially ones that lead to violence, and would rather talk through any issues than fight or chase someone off, but she was not afraid to do the latter either, as the easy confidence in her posture spoke of. “Are you lost, my friend?” She asked, knowing from years of experience that most that came to the Desertlands never meant to.

Arapmoi had been struggling silently for several moments now as he tried to free himself. He was beginning to think his hopes of reaching the sandy shore on the other side were futile. “Well,” he said to himself with annoyance. “Aren’t you the venerable warthog a wallow?” As he floundered on a voice rang in his ear. Now, Arapmoi was a typically skilled and agile lion, typically though he’s not belly deep in paw devouring mud. So it was no surprise that when he leaped at the sound of a voice rather than jumping gracefully to the side ready for a fight he stumbled and fell.

Standing as quickly as he could his claws digging into the soft floored bottom he roared with anger. Shaking his head briskly he flung clods of mud in every direction from his mane. Turning to glare at the voice he blinked a few times. Standing out blindingly against the sand was the lovely pale cream coat of a lioness on a dune. Feeling like a fool he grumbled lowly to himself as he watched her warily and listened to her speak.

Arapmoi knew that not all encounters meant violence but in his personal history that was exactly what had happened each and every time he met another of his species. He looked with annoyance at the muck; even if he had to protect himself the lady had the upper hand. He smiled a bit; he’d never fought a woman before and sincerely hoped this wouldn’t be the first time. “I’m not lost.” He called sharply back to her.

“I’m not found either…” he muttered to himself shifting his weight. A thought which caused his fur to bristle suddenly occurred to him. “Is this your territory?” he called out his voice gruff. He hoped that he could avoid a conflict but was steeling his nerves and flexing his claws beneath the mud, just in case.

The lioness was amused as she seemed to take the lion off guard, causing him to stumble deeper into the muck, though the only sign of the amusement was a small smile. She watched as he shook off some of the mud, the clods slowly sinking back into the thick muck again while not appearing to let up on the lion at all, and was unswayed by his angry roar. It wasn’t a threatening one, only one of frustration, something natural for a lion in his situation. Quanna regarded him calmly as he continued to struggle in the muck. When he claimed himself not lost, the lioness raised her eyebrow. “Few wander into the Mucklands knowing what they are,” she said in offhanded doubt.

When the lion asked if this was her territory, Quanna stood up straighter and nodded. “You are right on the boarders of the Desertlands. We are actually doing a boarder check as we speak. Perhaps a good thing, too.” She gestured towards his form. “Walk slowly and evenly, try to keep your weight even. If your paw is stuck, twist.” The lioness demonstrated, twisting her front paw out to the side so the entire leg turned. “Other than that, it’s just a matter of perseverance. Though it’s shallower over there,” she nodded a few feet to her right. The lioness remained where she was, tail slowly swaying as she regarded him in quiet curiousness.

Quanna wasn’t certain what she thought about the stranger, but he didn’t seem threatening. Obviously, that could change in a matter of seconds, but generally Quanna had a good sense of judgement when it came to others, and the annoyance displayed from the lion was clearly from his situation. So she wasn’t particularly worried. “Where have you traveled from? The Lowlands?” The lioness looked past him, doing her best to judge the direction he came from, though knowing the bordering territory had a lack of males and were not planning to seek out more any time soon.