Reckless And Young

In the Coldlands, he was trapped like a zebra foal caught amidst a pack of hyenas. There was no longer anything here for Jabari but a stifling case of bitterness and boredom. Boredom often breeds trouble, and Jabari was no exception. He had no parent to guide him, and had been without affection or attentiveness for a long time. His loyalty to Ismahel and his son had waned months ago. Even his brother Ziko was no longer a closer friend and confidante. Irrational paranoia had created a reclusive creature in Jabari, coupled with a distinct and mature realization about his situation: his was a pride filled with only males of their species. The kingdom he had been forced to call home held no appeal to the energetic male. He wanted more from life than the Coldlands could offer.

He had expertly avoided the highest elevations his entire life, where snow was more likely to appear. But in recent days, it had ceased to snow there. Now all that remained were filthy puddles, leaving a mess for the white lions of the mountains. In the absence of the characteristic extreme cold for which the territory was named, rapidly melting snow created a new problem. In canyons, there would be flash floods on particularly warm days, leaving disaster in its wake: uprooted trees, huge boulders moved by the powerful currents. The pride had not been directly affected by the flooding, but all were more wary than usual. Why was the weather seemingly changing there? Jabari enjoyed the unusually mild climate, however. He was no longer a cub, but it was still difficult to resist the forming mud puddles that matched his pelt.

Even still, the young lion was more wont to wonder beyond the borders or in quiet places where the others would not find or bother him. His fascination in the opposite sex increased daily, it seemed, as did the length of his shaggy dark mane. What good was a handsome mane like his when there were no females around to admire it? This was the driving force behind Jabari’s adventures into neutral territory. But today, he found himself in a place he normally preferred to avoid. The low, now only half frozen, brought back painful memories of his father, and the elder lion’s attempts to make Jabari into a fighter. The younger had resisted, but he had learned a thing or two since his days as a helpless cub.

Jabari was nearly capable of fending for himself, and he was cocky. He thought himself to be strong enough to handle life without the Coldlanders, and yet he always seemed to return there. That day, an encounter with an unknown full grown male had been a painful lesson for young Jabari. He had a sharp tongue and no will power to control it, and before he could retreat from the spat, Jabari had found his tail locked in the powerful jaws of an angry lion. His tail, now broken a couple of inches away from the dark tuft at the end, found itself bent sharply. It was a wonder he still had any tail left on him. The appendage angled awkwardly at a near perfect ninety degrees. He nursed his crooked tail gingerly, but found it difficult to look at, knowing that it would likely never heal properly.

Miles away, far from the mountains and beyond the grasslands, a search had begun. Someone was looking for Jabari, but the young lion would never have guessed it. For too long, no one had been watching out for the male. Unbeknownst to him, there was another lost one who was close, someone he had never met. Kismet would join the two, but not before the young male made a fuss about it. For now, he rest beside the lake, eyes closed as he tried to shut out the agony of his injured tail.

For years, the mountains had been a far off, white, untouchable strange land for Tasa. It laid far beyond the Pridelands, a place she had never thought of reaching as a cub. The boarders of the Pridelands has been, surprisingly, fine with Tasa, who’d never much liked the look of the lands next to her once home, and who used to have pride while wearing the title of a Pridelander. Sure, she had been aware, even frightened of the ill-will her father and the hyenas spread across the lands -- the stories of how they should never leave the Pridelands, lest they be devoured by enemies who bided their time lurking at their boarders, waiting to make a snack of the tyrant king’s cubs. But the Pridelands had been all she knew, all she knew or cared to want (seeing little better option), so stumbling across this strange, gravelly and muddy terrain was far from a fun experience for the ex-Pridelander.

She’d expected the Coldlands to be... well, cold. But instead it was muddy, drippy, and filled with dredged up debris, making her crossing all the more difficult. A mud puddle here, an uprooted tree there, boulders unearthed and sitting awkwardly in her path. It was terribly frustrating, and in her already fowl mood, she saw little beauty in the land. When the now almost adult had set her sights on the lands within the mountains to cross -- in hopes of finding better shelter and hiding places from the lurking hyenas she had once tried to boss around, and now grown to fear (not that she would admit it to any of the disgusting canines), as well as from any aforementioned enemies who perhaps really did intend to slaughter her on first sight -- Tasa had assumed she was coming to some frozen land. She had imagined up a picture in her mind of a coating of white over every tree and rock, water being stopped dead by its cold, crystal counterpart. Some kingdom swathed in the color and softness of clouds.

This hideous terrain certainly was not that. Sure, the unfamiliar foliage and mountains and views were impressive, but when she was constantly sinking in mud or stubbing her paws on jutting up roots and rocks, it left the beauty of the place sour. If Tasa was honest with herself, she was sick of traveling. Sick of wandering around without a friendly face (not that she had many of those back home either) and about terrain that was unfamiliar. She was glad to be on her own, to no longer suffer the neglect of her father, the conflicting emotions of her mother, the suffocation of hyenas and lionesses who hated her simply for existing... and she was especially grateful to be rid of the achingly familiar scenery that just reminded her of Ari’s blood soaking into the cracked earth, and Giza’s frightened cries for help. She was both furious and grateful for the banishment Scar had forced on her, chasing her out with hyenas before she could see her sister properly buried.

Tasa wondered where Ari’s body was now. Did Scar favour her as much as it appeared? Did he give her a proper resting place, or did he let starvation take over and feed the hyenas with her corpse? The once princess honestly had no idea what her father would do. All she knew was that the hyenas had not overcome her and slaughtered her, as she knew they could’ve, and that a few paced the boarders even days after her banishment, snarling at her pale form. The teen had wandered back to see what had happened, where Ari’s body had gone, if her mother and Kifu even realized what had happened, but the hyenas barred her entrance. So that was that, then. She remembered snarling at the canines, taking in once last eyeful of her birthlands, and left with the understanding she may well never return.

The ex-pridelander still toyed with the idea of returning regardless in the back of her mind, even as she tread carefully on a half frozen lake. Not for nostalgia, but for revenge. For finally understanding what her father was inflicting on the lands and pride, and that he was better done away with. Rather than reel back in horror at her sudden bloodlust, she had been nursing it for several months. Scar couldn’t continue, couldn’t be left attempting to raise sons to carry on his awful lineage. Her thoughts and plans on the matter fueled her hatred, fed the emotional turmoil within her and left her wandering the lands like a great, electric storm cloud.

It was as such that Tasa stalked silently along the lake, the ice freezing but sturdy beneath her pads (a far better substitute to getting mud stuck between her claws, especially as her ankles were already coated in the brown substance) careful to not tread near the water where the ice was too thin. She had grown skilled at the art of silent walking, especially since her time on her own, where quietness could mean the difference between life and death. The young lioness had managed to keep her anger and turmoil tied up somewhere in her stomach, where it would build and build until she exploded -- but until then, kept her more able to hunt with at least some patience.

She was not the most observant, however, especially while her mind was fuming elsewhere, and as such completely overlooked the young lion resting beside the lake. So when his ear flicked casually, Tasa leapt back with a startled snarl. The lion was the color of mud and snow, apt for one of these lands. The wiser part of Tasa told her to run away while she still had the advantage -- but few ever accused the pale lioness of being wise. She abhorred running away, and refused to if she could help it. And by the size of his mane -- a scrawny, dark brown thing -- he couldn’t have been much older than her. Certainly such a worry as a full-grown lion. And it had been some time since she’d interacted with one of her age, so Tasa decided to stand her ground, angled to look as large as possible (which was still hard for a premature cub sired by a scrawny king, even besides the fact she was getting by on scraps). Her ears flicked from being pinned back, to up and curious, exposing her denied nervousness.

”Who are you?” Tasa asked sharply, as if he was the one trespassing. Her tail flicked, and she noticed his own was oddly bent. That lightened her mood -- and it showed -- as she knew just where to strike should this get heated. Her sharp green eyes scanned the landscape, not sensing any others nearby. She was more or less certain this was neutral territory, by the scent the lioness had run into. “You’re a Coldlander?”

Jabari opened his eyes again to see that he was no longer alone. The form before him was pale, and he thought that it was Prince Sakitu for a moment. His expression became even more miserable, if such a thing was possible, until he realized he was mistaken. There was no mane growing, and this mystery lion was not white at all, but rather a very light creamy hue. Jabari realized, much to his pleasure, that it was a lioness, one he had never seen before. She appeared close to his own age, but underfed, with bones jutting out needlessly beneath her taut pelt. And she wasn’t entirely friendly, he learned very quickly, but that didn’t keep the slow spreading smile from the adolescent male’s muzzle. Finally, it seemed something good would come out of this miserable day, but it could take a bit of coaxing. This lioness made it clear immediately that she was in no mood for games. That was unfortunate, Jabari thought to himself, but he seemed entirely unaffected by her sharp tongue.

Before he could offer his name, she questioned him again, wary and demanding. The latter inquiry should have been obvious, given the location, but Jabari took a minute to consider. ”Maybe I’m a Coldlander.” He looked around at the sights that had become so familiar, yet they were not the same. The scene before him was a depressing version of the kingdom his father had brought him to as a child, melting and bleak and brown enough to match the lion’s mud colored pelt. The Coldlands, for the time being, were hardly cold at all. Jabari had never loved the lands, but there was even less now to keep him planted there. After another moment of deliberation, he finally shook his head, sending locks of his dark mane falling before his violet eyes. ”Doubtful. They don’t want me here, any more than I want to be here.”

Still sensing her unease, Jabari continued with a curious look upon his face: part amusement, but mostly bitterness, eyebrows knit tightly together above his eyes. ”Better watch out. If they find you here, they’ll try to get you to stay. They’d love to get their paws on such a pretty young lioness, you can bet your life.” Finally, it seemed to dawn on him that he had failed to answer her first question, and so he went back to the start. ”Name’s Jabari. And who would you be, oh polite intruder?” An ironic grin appeared, and he even chuckled softly to himself. There was no malice in his expression though. His reaction to a female trespasser was far different than that experienced by a male. His eyes remained on the lioness to see if she would be offended.

”As I was saying, there’s a king and a prince and they’re both ready and eager to make your acquaintance. Stick around and you’ll see. They’re both white. Even more pale than you yourself.” As he spoke, Jabari seemed to forget about his injured tail, and he attempted to move it only to be reminded by the immense pain that he couldn’t hide from his face. He placed a large paw on the coal colored tail tuft so that he would not forget and make the same mistake again, still managing to avoid looking at the bloodied tail. The lioness was much nicer to look at, anyway. He gritted his teeth and smiled through the pain like daggers, wondering to himself if it would be more or less painful to rid himself of the injured section of tail all-together. But he quickly decided that no lioness would be interested in an incomplete lion, and that his tail would have to stay, despite the unhappiness it was currently causing him.