Of course, this is a Lion King fanfic and, as such, will utilize elements (and scenes and dialogue as needed and deemed necessary) from The Lion King, Simba's Pride, The Lion King on Broadway, and from the hard-to-find book set The Lion King: Six New Adventures. Any and everything appearing within these works are all copyrighted to Disney. I'm not taking any credit for those.
The seed of the idea for this project came while reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's fabulous The Mists of Avalon. In that nearly 900-page novel, the story of King Arthur is told from the viewpoint of the women behind the throne. Towards the end of the book, I got the idea to do something similar with TLK and SP -- tell them (and a considerable deal more) from the viewpoint of the primary lionesses (those belonging to Disney). If you've read The Mists of Avalon, then you'll probably catch some tips of the hat to it. I did draw some inspiration from the book, but this is a disclaimer not a spoiler, so, again, anyone familiar with the book will recognize where those sections are.
All else, however, are my brainchildren, so please treat them with respect.
I don't know as yet just how violent or otherwise adult this is going to be (heck, I'm still writing it, after all), but I will say in so much that I don't think this is something that a kid still in single digit years -- a kid less than ten -- should read. I'd say, just to cover my bases, that if you're not old enough to be reading, at the absolute least, young adult novels then you probably should just stop now and wait until you are. Sorry, but I don't want any angry parents saying that their little darling's eyes were soiled because they weren't warned that this was above and beyond them. Here's the warning; parents take heed. To everyone else, by all means, enjoy.
And, finally, don't do anything with this (other than the obvious saving to your computer and/or printing it out for reading leisure) without asking me first. Comments, questions, critiques, and just about anything else can be sent to me at [email protected] Be forewarned, though, that I can be rather slow in getting my email replies out, so please be patient, or send me a reminder if you haven't gotten anything back after a few weeks.
In my time, and indeed beyond it, I have been known as many things: rogue, sorceress, storyteller, savior, healer, mother, mate, and queen. I have been equally revered and feared, not for any spite I may hold for others, no, but for the power and mystery that I wield. Never for me was the path of deceit and trickery, for if it had ever been I could have walked that same path which led my tiba from me. And I must draw cold comfort from those Four whom I served, whom I still serve, knowing that it was Their Will, whatever the ends may be. Yet still I look back to the day -- regardless of whatever the Four had wished to come of it -- back to the day when I could not even hope that my tiba could step off that path which They had chosen for him, that he could ever come back to me. And whether he knew it or not, believed it or not, he walked with the Second of the Four, and I must draw comfort from that which was -- which is -- Her Will.
But I get ahead of myself, for that was long into this tale I weave, regardless of the voice that speaks. Though, if truth be told, not so long in this as when the others speak. It was long yet into my own life...and came closer to marking its end, from my own vantage, than I could comprehend at the time.
Here I exercise the third of that which I have been called, and invoke the Fourth of the Four, for it is She who keeps the stories. Perhaps you have heard this story before...or perhaps you only think you have. Many tales of Great Kings have been told from royal father to royal son, but how many of those tales are passed on a lioness's tongue? Neither is more true than the other, as both lose nothing in the telling, even when told by those who were there. Always the truth has been what you hold to your heart, and no one else's heart may contradict yours. And so, perhaps, truth, real truth, which is as elusive as the Fourth of the Four, lies somewhere between the two, somewhere between that which is told by kings to their sons and that which is told by the pride to its children.
Truth lies where all elements meet: earth, sky, fire, water. Where one can hold its counter without event, save to those who know their significance. And I, who was queen, who truly lived and truly (so I thought) died on those shores, at the welling spring that is life-force to that place where all Four meet, tell the tale as I know it, for there is no other truth for me, much as I wish there were. I lived to see that which I loved most, my tiba, turn from me, and to watch helpless as the rift between him and his brother grew. I died to watch in the service of the Four in hope that that rift would heal; however many cycles of the seasons it took. And many cycles it would take indeed.
So I tell this tale as warning that the past can repeat itself, but only if we forget that which has gone before. I tell this tale as one who has lived it, in all voices who have power, those voices, which are also mine through betrothal or blood. I am she who gave birth to two kings: he who walked his father's path more closely than he knew, and he who brought both down. I am Uru, Queen of Pride Rock.
The blood-rich scent of birth filled the secluded chamber that Uru had chosen for her lair. On any other occasion she would have been sleeping quietly at her mate's side in the main cavern of Pride Rock, with nothing but the pride and the waxing moon to keep them company. Many of the pride's lionesses had frowned at her insistence to seek out a private place in which to bring her cubs into the world. But they were the ones who had always known, as their ancestors had, the comforts of pridal life. They were social, almost to a fault, feeling that everything should be done with the pride. One wonders what they would do if they found their mate choosing to "share" himself with another lioness, Uru had mused once to Kinyamkela, who she had known since cubhood. They were like sisters, Kinyamkela having been raised by Uru's mother alongside her own cubs. Uru remembered those times at Pride Rock, when all the pride looked at them with caution because they were of rogue blood. Uru's mother had sought sanctuary within the Pride Lands during the great drought that had ravaged the land during Mohatu's reign -- a rogue lioness with five young cubs to raise was hard pressed to survive those times with all her cubs alive. Of those five, Uru and Kinyamkela were the last two remaining at Pride Rock; Uru's sisters having left to reclaim their rogue heritage. Kinyamkela had stayed because Uru had stayed, and Uru had stayed not only because her mother had settled into pride living, but also because she, Uru, had been promised to the heir apparent, Ahadi. And now she had his cubs curled absently suckling at her belly. She smiled. How could those pride lionesses ever think that she would relinquish this private moment between mother and children so that they might have something to coo over before she herself had recovered from the birth? But that was their mentality, and she felt a slight stab of guilt that she had denied them the joy that they had been looking forward to for several cycles of the moon now. They would still get their chance to swoon over the newborns; it was not as if she were going to keep them cloistered away down in her chosen lair forever. And they would have more than her own young to shower with the love of a doting aunt: Kinyamkela was also with cub, and would doubtless be bringing her own little ones into the world soon, if she hadn't already. And still there was the social Naima, who would bring forth her children into the waiting bustle of some communal cave. Much as Uru knew that the pride would have preferred to have had the chance to assist in a royal birth, she also knew that the excitement caused by the proximity of the three lionesses' times would allow them to forgive her. They knew her rogue nature and, since she was queen, they respected her wishes.
A weak cry at her side made her turn to her cubs. They had stopped nursing, having fallen asleep at their posts. She smiled softly down at them. The cry came again and she knew as only a mother could that it was made from a dream and little more. She licked the stirring sleeper with her tongue, letting its rough but gentle caresses lull him deeper into the realm of dreams. He snuggled gently against her, burrowing into her belly fur so that it lay contrasting with his dark natal coat. Sighing, he slipped into a silent slumber.
Uru licked him once more, then leaned back, reflecting upon him and his brother. She had yet to officially name them, feeling that she should let Ahadi have at least some input into her choice. A smile flickered mischievously across her muzzle. Her mind was almost made up, and all the choice Ahadi would really have would be the chance to voice his approval. She had already decided upon what she would call the eldest, the one whose natal coat showed promise of a golden hue: Mufasa, after some great king or honorable warrior from some half-remembered story told to her in cubhood. What feats the hero had done she could not recall, only that she remembered the name now having been surrounded by an aura of nobility and power. It was fitting for the son of a king, and it would have been a shame to leave it only to live in legends. Mufasa, her Mufasa, was strong; she could see it in the way he jostled with his smaller brother for position at her teats. It was no cruelty or greed that drove him to seek the best places, but rather the instinctive functions of an infant lion. She licked him as he slept innocently beside his brother. One day, she knew as queen, she would have to give him to his father so that he could take his place as king. As queen she knew that day would come when he would be more his father's than he was hers. How can the others be so willing to give up this sacred time? He would love her still, and she him, but there would always be the throne between them, or so the queen before her, Ahadi's mother, had warned. The younger, though, the little dark shadow to the heir, was hers. He would be required to know how to rule, should -- the Four forbid -- the need ever arise, but he would not be obligated to spend all time with his father. He was hers until he said otherwise. She licked the silent sleeper. He had her dark coat, the coat she had inherited from her own mother, in stark contrast to that coat which his brother had inherited from their father. Mufasa would belong in time to Ahadi, and so Ahadi had rights to name him as he would; but the dark brother was hers, and so she had rights to name him as she would. Ahadi could not lay claims. Again she licked her younger son. Taka, she had decided. To wish, for he was her wish, her own child where Mufasa could never be as he grew to the kingship. To ask, for if he had inherited more from her than her coat then he would be inquisitive and always questioning. Taka shari...to defy...to challenge....
Uru's head snapped up, her eyes searching for the one who had invaded her sanctuary and had dared to mock her choice in her very presence. But how could they have followed her thoughts? A shiver ran down Uru's spine as she realized who it was who had spoken. She would find no lioness standing at the cave's entrance or lurking in the shadows, taunting her. The voice had come from within, and only One of the Four could do that. She shivered again, drawing herself tightly around her cubs. But which of the Four Sisters had spoken? Only Two ever spoke thus: the Second and the Fourth. How she hoped that it was the Fourth, Hurul-ayni, who would offer such words as warning, not as curse or promise. Her mother had done well to teach her the Goddesses' lore; if she had not, Uru would not have recognized the Voice for what It was. She turned to her oblivious young. What do They have lying in wait for you, my darlings?
A shadow fell across her, and it took all her will to keep from leaping to her paws, claws and teeth bared.
"Uru?" It was a voice she knew, one that had a face in the land of mortal lions. Ahadi stood in the entrance, peering in on her. She had not wanted to be disturbed -- when she was ready, she would come. She had told him it explicitly, and he had agreed. What was he doing here?
Breathing deeply to regain her composure, she asked, "Yes?" She was too badly shaken by the Voice and Its implications to lash out at her mate; she was glad he was there, if only because it gave her mind something else to think about.
"Are you...all right?" he asked, taking a hesitant step forward. He was worried about her. This was his first time being a father and Uru knew that he would be apprehensive.
"Yes," she took one more deep breath to steady herself. "I'm fine."
All at once his face broke into the most relieved smile she had ever seen on him. He exhaled heavily, as though he had been holding his breath since leaving the communal cave. Uru blinked, the scent of death wafting through her lair for a moment so brief that she wasn't sure it had even been there.
"What's happened?" she asked. Of course something had happened; nothing else would have prompted Ahadi to come and check on her against her will and his word.
At her question, his smile and relief at her safety vanished. By the Four, what has happened? He looked away, gazing sadly up towards the communal cave. "Naima's birthing did not go well," he said quietly, stilling gazing towards the cave. "Only one of her cubs wasn't stillborn."
Uru recoiled. Stillborn. Oh, Ahadi, why did you tell me that now? The Second of the Four was Mistress of Stillbirths. If she had visited so upon Naima, then it could well have been She Who had spoken. "No," Uru whispered, fervently hoping that One other than She had been the Voice she had heard. If one cub was spared, then Another of the Four -- the Third or the Fourth, perhaps -- could have intervened, and it was One of Them Who she had heard. Uru clung fervently to that hope.
"The others said to check on you..." Ahadi continued, leaving the just in case unspoken. Uru stared up at him, her eyes wide and fearful. "But you are all right?" he asked, the hope in his voice painful to Uru's ears. How could she tell him that she was not? She couldn't, and she knew it.
"Yes," she met his eyes, calming the wild beating of her heart. "I'm fine." She watched as he nodded, then began to retreat back towards where the pride waited, doubtless mourning the loss of the stillborn cubs. Her heart stilled long enough to be twisted by grief for them. "Tell Naima that I'm sorry and that I would be there with her if I could," Uru entreated of her mate before he had vanished from the cave.
Ahadi paused and the light of the full moon reflected off of the tears that streaked his cheeks. "Naima is dead," he said quietly, yet somehow the wind carried the words to Uru. Her heart stopped. Naima...dead...? Such death, too, belonged to the Second. Uru curled tightly around her children, shielding them the only way she knew how.
"What will happen to the surviving cub?" With no mother to suckle it, surely it will die. If Ahadi asked, Uru would offer to rear the cub, the same way her own mother had taken in Kinyamkela. Even if he did not ask, she would offer. It should not end like that.
"Kinyamkela bore only one cub," Ahadi told her. "She sent word back when she was told of Naima that she would gladly care for the orphan."
Uru nodded, numbed. Yes, that was only appropriate. One orphan should repay the gift of her life by giving that same gift to another. Uru would not offer.
Her mate turned to her, a smile fighting to find its way across his face. "What news should I bring the others? Good, I hope."
She smiled lovingly, squelching her tears with the sense of her family. "Two sons, Ahadi," her smile broadened as she saw his smile win out against the weight of the tragedy in the communal cave. "Both are healthy and gave their mother no trouble."
He was glad to hear it, she could see, and she did not reproach him when he came closer to lay eyes upon his sons. "They are beautiful," he said, nuzzling her.
A rough leonine purr worked its way past the lump in her throat. "They are sleeping," she gently warned him. If he wished to stay then he must not wake them.
Ahadi smiled, truly smiled for the first time that night, and licked her on the cheek. "I will tell them," he said, and turned to leave. Uru watched, her thoughts flicking back and forth like night insects. She should have told him. Ah, but Ahadi did not know the ways of the Four like his queen did, and how could he understand what Uru had heard? A voice heard in the weariness of childbirth, doubtless, but Uru knew much better. There were lionesses in the pride who knew something of Them, but nothing like their queen. Uru's mother had indeed taught her and her sisters well. Kinyamkela would understand, even when no one else would. Did the Sister, whichever One it may have been, visit upon all three mothers this night? Naima was dead and so were all but one of her litter; Uru had heard the Voice of a Goddess; and Kinyamkela fostered Naima's last cub, but had the Goddess had a paw in that? That was foolishness. All Four had a Paw in all things. But Who among Them had latched Her Claws in this?
Uru laid her head upon her paws. She must talk to Kinyamkela when she got the chance. And she must go to that lake which none but she knew of. There she could find answers in the peace that the waters provided.
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It had not occurred to Uru that she had fallen asleep at all that night, but it seemed like only a moment from when she had placed her chin on her paws to the dawn startling her with its brilliance. She raised her head, staring out from the cave as the red disk of the sun rose from the savanna, shimmering as it shook itself awake. Uru inhaled deeply of the morning air. How good it felt to be alive with warm light bathing you -- how distant the fears of a night gone by. The thought stole the heat from her fur and she shivered despite herself. Which of the Four had it been?
A gentle kneading at her belly told her that at least one of her sons w as awake. Her eyes rested upon the two infants: her little Taka was nursing; his brother still treaded along dream trails. His paws twitched. She smiled and, for the moment, forgot the sense of dread that had been haunting her since the Voice had spoken.
The sun continued to rise as Uru lay in repose with her sons. She refused to let her mind wander back to the paths it had walked the night before. Too long she had dwelled upon it, and it would do her no kindness to wrack her spirit more with trying to figure out Who had spoken. All that she needed to know was that it was One of the Four, and that was enough. For the sake of her children, however, she had to know why the events of the night had played out as they had. There was no possibility, in Uru's mind, that what had transpired was mere coincidence -- there had to be a purpose for Naima's stillborn cubs and her own death, as well as a correlation between that and the Voice that Uru had heard.
She needed to speak her thoughts aloud, yet there was no one to whom to speak: Kinyamkela was the only obvious choice, and she was, like Uru, hidden amongst the caves of Pride Rock with young, one hers, one Naima's. For the first time, Uru felt the full force of her isolation. Even if she could not tell the others -- they would never understand the gravity of what had happened -- she would still have preferred to have had the company and support that they could have offered her. Here, she was alone, unprotected, and vulnerable. What had possessed her to hide? She, who was royalty, would always be under the scrutiny of the public eye, and so, too, would her cubs. It would have only been right for them to be born before that same eye. Yet the rogue in her drew back and snarled contempt. No, she was true to her nature to come here as she had, and now she must suffer the consequences, whatever they may be.
Uru stood, nudging her children as she did so. As queen she had a duty to her pride and, while she would not let her children be born to a world without privacy, she would not use that as an excuse to show disrespect to the dead. Naima's elegy would be that night and, new mother or no, she was queen and expected to be there. But what to do with the cubs while she was away? It would not be fit to leave them for that long, nor would it be fit to not pay her respects. Uru sighed, her loyalties torn. She had not been much more than Queen to Naima, yet now she regarded the departed lioness as though she were her dearest friend.
Moving to the entrance of the cave, she gazed longingly out at the sun-bathed savanna. Asubuhi had almost passed and the sun sat just barely to the front of Pride Rock. She closed her eyes and let the fierce heat envelop her. It had always surprised her in her youth that the Second of the Four should hold sway over the sun. The great solar disk seemed to her too benign to be associated with that One. But that had been many seasons ago and she had been an ignorant cub questioning her mother's teachings. Saada Imara was a powerful Goddess, perhaps the most powerful of all the Sisters. And, like all Goddesses, She had Her many facets, ranging from Nurturer to Destroyer. If it was She Who had Spoken, then it could still have been a warning, the Goddess telling her to beware. Uru's mother had stressed -- more often than not, by Uru's calculation -- that She was the greatest help one could ask for, yet, as Goddess of Fire, She was fickle and would not always come when called; She came when She Wished it. It was a lesson to never rely upon the Four to get her or her sisters out of trouble; as rogues by blood it was essential that they knew how to take care of themselves.
Feeling the sun beat down on her, Uru accepted what had transpired that night. She would not fear what came, for she knew that, whatever it was, the Four Willed it so -- she had merely been given the opportunity to lessen the blow to herself that must surely come.
"Ndugu Nne," she murmured, calling upon the Four. "If you have plans for my little ones, then protect them from harm while I give due tribute to one who is now in Your care. I leave them in Your takabadhi; guard them well."
Taking a deep breath, Uru left the cave and headed up the slope towards the precipice of Pride Rock. If not for the tragedy the night before, the pride would have been lounging on the other side of Pride Rock. Today it would be in the main cavern, mourning the passing of a sister and her children. The breeze stirred as Uru ascended the kopje. She stopped and squinted up at the sun. Winds seldom blew, even gently, when it was so high, directly above Pride Rock. Stroking her face, the current of air flowed past her, down the slope, and toward the lair she had left her sons in. The scents of rains, desert heat, nocturnal rhythm, and new-grown grass tickled her nostrils. She smiled knowingly. Asante sana, Ndugu, she responded silently. Thank you, Sisters. You honor me. Behind her, her children were safe; ahead, the pride mourned -- she could hear their somber tones echoing within the cavern.
Composing herself, Uru walked up to the cave's mouth and stared in. Already the bodies had been removed, taken out onto the savanna where they could become the grasses that fed the herds and, in their turn, the pride. Sorrow clung to the scene, but she could sense the faintest flickering of hope within their hearts, manifested in Naima's one remaining cub.
"Queen Uru!" one of the lionesses called out in surprise. Uru turned to face the speaker. She had never liked to hear the title of queen upon her pride sisters' lips, but her rogue nature distanced her from them, and she knew that they did not feel themselves to be in a familiar enough position to gain the right to call her solely by name. What little activity that had been going on stopped as the pride drew its collective attention to its queen. The lioness who had spoken came slowly forward. She dipped her head deferentially to Uru. It was Zamani, one of the older lionesses in the pride; she had just attained adulthood when Uru was still a cub and had, when it became known that Uru was expecting, been quite adamant about playing midwife to the queen. It had taken all of Uru's authority to convince her otherwise. "What are you doing away from your sons?" Fear for their safety reflected clearly in her ochre eyes. That would be all they needed: to have something dire happen to her sons. Truly it would be the final blow for the pride.
Uru took a step within the cavern, entering into the cooler shadows there. "I came to do my royal duty," she said, addressing the pride as much as she did Zamani. She looked around, noticing for the first time that her mate was not present. "Where is King Ahadi?" They were so formal with her that always she felt compelled to do away with any pretense of familiarity, much as she despised the charade and knew that it would only prolong itself if she didn't try to treat them more like the sisters that they should have been. And yet, if she tried to act as though they were more than a queen and her subjects, they would not reciprocate, but watch her with a wary eye instead. What they had set up now was a tenuous arrangement at best, but it was still better than some of the alternatives.
"He is out patrolling the borders and seeing to the tranquility of the Pride Lands," Zamani answered, padding up behind her.
Yes, Uru thought, he is often to be found doing that. She turned, her gaze sweeping over the assembled lionesses. "Where is the little one?" she asked. Where is Naima's surviving cub?
"She is with Kinyamkela," Zamani told her, stopping at a respectful -- and wary, Uru noted -- distance when Uru paused.
So, it is a daughter then. "Has she been named?" Uru had no authority in the naming of another's cub -- that right belonged to the mother, not to the queen. With Naima dead, if the cub had no name before her passing, then the task fell to Kinyamkela as her foster mother.
Zamani shook her head. "Not when last I saw her," she said. Kinyamkela would name her, then. Uru turned to go, scanning the pride as she went. They had lost so much in so little time, and now their rays of hope, the cubs, were stashed away with their rogue-born mothers. Grief could twist quite easily into hate and Uru had no intention of alienating her pride. When they had mourned Naima and the cubs in due time, she would have her own children presented to the kingdom, so that joy might assuage the pain. "Do you return to your sons now?" Zamani asked as Uru reached the entrance.
Uru paused. She should go to speak with Kinyamkela, if only to find out how she, her cub, and her adopted daughter were doing. Yet there was an undertone to Zamani's words, telling her that she should not have left the princes alone for so long. Uru relented. "Yes," she responded, "I do."
Zamani nodded approvingly, and Uru headed back down the path to her lair. If she chose to sidetrack to Kinyamkela's den, only the two of them and the Four would know that she had. But she had told Zamani, and the rest of the pride with her, that she was returning to her sons, and so she would. The Four know that they do not trust me as they should their queen. She sighed. For all her attempts she was still seen as other among them -- she was Ahadi's mate and was accepted by virtue of that fact alone. It had been a relief for her that Kinyamkela had chosen to stay in the Pride Lands with her, especially once her -- their -- mother had died. Only the Four knew what would have happened had she not had the luxury of that one solid friendship.
The trail wound down to flat earth; a simple sidestep would lead her towards Kinyamkela. Her paws stayed on her chosen path, resolutely keeping to her word. It would not do to leave her cubs forever, and even with the guardianship of the Four, they would be hungry and wanting their mother's attention. There would be no other visits this day, save for that appearance at Naima's elegy which she had pledged to make. And to keep that oath she must see to it that her children were fit to be left in the Goddesses' care again. They must be fed and groomed. They must have a mother against whose belly they could rest.
At the cave's entrance, she felt the soothing brush of Their passing, returning her cubs, for the time being, to her care. "Thank you, Sisters," Uru breathed into the wind as it swirled softly past her . She stood for but a moment more at the edge of shadow before going to her little ones. They snuggled against her, searching for a place to suckle, as she lay down next to them. They were hungry, as she had guessed. She licked each in turn, convincing herself that no harm had come to them by her absence. Safe and secure at their mother's side, they alternately ate and slept as Uru filled the cavern with a maternal purr. And the sun sank closer to the far horizon.
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"Uru?" The question forced her to blink back to reality, returning from the blissful lands of maternal peace. She looked up to see Ahadi standing framed in the entranceway. Mauve streaked the eastern sky behind him -- magharibi had come.
"Yes?" she asked despite being able to guess at what he had come for. Elegies were always held near to sunset or moonrise -- either slightly before, slightly after, or some time between the two. Uru pulled her paws underneath her, readying herself for Ahadi to tell her that Naima's would be starting soon.
"I was told that you left the cave today," he said instead, surprising her.
She eased back, loosing her tensed muscles. "That is true," she replied carefully. With all the tragedy that had haunted Pride Rock as of late, it would come as no shock to her if Ahadi became angry with her for her absence. "I wanted to know how the others are coping with the deaths."
"They are coping," he told her curtly. Oh yes, he was not pleased about her leaving their sons alone. He sighed, shaking his head -- an attempt to calm his temper; Uru had seen it before on separate occasions. She had never thought that he would ever have reason to use it in her presence, least of all because of her actions.
"Our sons are fine," she said softly, guiding him along away from the frustration he doubtless felt towards her at the moment. "See? They sleep soundly by their mother's side." He looked up, the truth of her words reflecting keenly in his eyes. Had they been anything but fine, the stress of it all could have manifested itself in ways that both king and queen would have regretted. Uru suppressed a shudder. She had only heard tales of her mate's wrath, it being such a rare thing to begin with, and never, thankfully, having experienced it herself. It was one of the things about him that had drawn her to him: his ability to remain calm and rational during trying events.
"They will remain safe here, with their mother to protect them," he said, not quite focusing on either her or the cubs. Does a Sister Speak to him? she wondered. No, Ahadi had never had an ear for the Four; he would not have heard One of Them had She Spoken.
"Ahadi?" she asked, hoping for some clue that would clarify his words for her. His eyes lifted to hers, fearful and commanding at the same time. The implication hit her suddenly. She drew herself up, her yellow twin-moon eyes boring into him. "I won't lie here when one of the pride has died. As queen I am expected to be there to give my last regards as much as you are as king." Her body felt rigid to her, too stiff to be her own. All of her nerves were on edge, she realized. Ahadi was king and he could order her to remain here whether she wanted to or not. For all of the power of the Goddesses, the king still held sway over the land and those who dwelled upon it, save perhaps for true priestesses. Uru, for all her lessons and knowledge, was no priestess. She braced herself for the blow that would tell her that she was to stay where she was.
"Uru, mpenzi," he said, his voice unexpectedly tender, "you do Naima no injustice by not attending." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "She died to bring one cub into this world; she would not want you to place your own cubs in danger for her sake." Uru turned her face away, ashamed of herself. He was right. It would not have done to leave their sons alone again -- the Four Sisters or no, the pride would not understand any more than Ahadi would that they were protected in her absence by Those far greater than she. "They will understand," Ahadi reassured her with a nuzzle, and she was not sure of whom he spoke, the pride sisters or the Four. He glanced outside and she followed his gaze: the sky had darkened into violet and the first stars had begun to shine. Ahadi's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "The Great Kings beckon," he said, only half to Uru.
She nudged him with her nose. "Not yet, they don't. Not for you," she told him sternly, dread churning in her belly. It frightened her to hear him speak like that. Whether he had intended it to mean anything more than that the night was calling or not, the possibility of him contemplating that it might be his time was enough to make her heart stop.
Ahadi smiled kindly at her. "No," he agreed. "Not for some time, mpenzi." He licked her on the cheek, then left her with their sons deep in slumber at her side.
"The Four grant that it won't be for some time yet, tunu," she whispered after him. She stared at the cavern entrance for some time following his departure before her eyes wavered to the stars. "And the Four grant you safe journey, Naima, koma. Yahom." Off in the distance, echoing from off the surrounding rocks, the sound of wailing reached her ears. Uru closed her eyes. There, they were allowed to mourn in public, while she, queen, was forced into solitude. For the briefest moment, bitterness welled in her, though towards who or what she couldn't be sure. Now she understood what would have happened had Kinyamkela not stayed with her: such bitterness would have swallowed her soul and the Four help any who would have been luckless enough to be in her path had it succeeded. She swallowed hard the knot that had lodged itself in her throat, a tear sliding unheeded down her cheek, a testimony to her solitude.
One of the cubs mewled softly at her side. Another tear followed the first as she gazed down at her sons. Better than going to the elegy, better than mourning in private or guarding her cubs from a harm that was dictated in the end by the Goddesses, she knew a way to properly honor Naima, to see that she did not die in vain. She had two sons and Naima's surviving cub was a daughter. Even if she had to brave Ahadi's rare anger -- but why should he be angry when no wrong was wrought? -- Naima's daughter would be the next Queen of Pride Rock. Uru chuckled softly to herself. "Do you know," she asked of her older son, "that your mother has set to betroth you to a lioness whose name she does not even know nor whose face she has yet laid eyes upon?" She chuckled again as Mufasa yawned and stretched, bumping into his younger brother. Taka sneezed at the intrusion, rolling over and away from his littermate. Their quiet as they slid back beneath the surface and into the watery world of dreams made clear the sounds of the pride crying for Naima and her lost young. Uru closed her ears to the haunting sounds, focusing instead on her sons, smiling at them as only a mother can. Yet it was true that she did not know the name of Naima's daughter. Ahadi would not let her leave their sons unattended by a mortal lioness -- the Four were more than enough for Uru's nerves but nowhere near enough for his or anyone else's, save Kinyamkela's -- so asking Kinyamkela directly was about as likely as one of the pride sisters sprouting wings. No, she would have to rely upon others to bring her news and any gossip worth noting about the cub. And the only other who would -- who could -- come to relay such news was Ahadi himself. Uru sighed, her ears catching again the wailing from outside. Her mate was constantly busy with the pressures of ruling a kingdom; information would be scarce unless asked for specifically. But, so long as she did not pester anyone for the cub's name, no one would guess why she wished to know it. For reasons she could not define, she wanted the betrothal to remain a secret, if only to give the pride the proper time to grieve.
Silence made Uru pause in her thoughts, the cries of the pride no longer reaching her ears. Had her mind been wandering so long? She sighed again. She wanted to talk to Ahadi, to ask him about Naima's daughter, but she knew that he had said his "good nights" to her before the elegy and would not come again until the dawn, or later, if duty to the kingdom demanded it. Always he was busy. Only the Four knew how he would ever find enough time for his sons if his schedule remained as it was. Closing her eyes, Uru left the thought there -- time and the Four would dictate how that went.
----------
"Rise and shine, sleepy-head," a familiar voice chimed to Uru, rousing her with a start from a restful sleep. She blinked, clearing her eyes and focusing on the grinning lioness lying stretched out in front of her. Two indistinguishable blurs -- one light, one dark -- nestled close against her pale abdomen. Uru blinked again and they materialized into two cubs that weren't the little princes. She stared dumbly at them. The lioness swatted her playfully. "What's the matter, Uru? You look as if you haven't seen a cub before in your life, and yet you have two of your own."
"Kinyamkela!" Uru exclaimed, too perplexed by her presence to do much more than feign indignation. "What are you doing here? And with your little ones!" Indeed, what was she doing there? Kinyamkela had hid herself as surely as Uru had, and with two cubs a move to another den site would require leaving one of them behind. The pride simply would not have allowed it had it known or found out; and the risk of it finding out would be too great to begin with.
Her friend shrugged. "The others seem to think it best that we set up a communal nursery." She grimaced, but Uru just continued to stare. "Everything is communal with them." Snorting in mock derision -- or with perhaps a hint of the real thing -- she continued, "I guess they thought they'd have better luck moving me to you. They really don't want us up and about, do they?"
"No," Uru said, still in a daze at Kinyamkela's presence. "No, I suppose not." She looked again at the two cubs at her friend's belly: one was hers, the other Naima's. It was not difficult to guess who was whose. One cub was pale beige -- or would be once it had outgrown its spots -- like Kinyamkela, and Uru would bet that it would have her same striking teal eyes. The other cub was darker: a rich brown that probably wouldn't get much lighter, even once the spots had vanished. This one, Uru felt certain, was Naima's daughter and the cub destined to become Queen after her. Naima, too, had had a brown coat -- in fact, most of the pride did, or some similar variation upon the shade. There were, excluding the cubs, only three exceptions to that rule who came immediately to mind: Ahadi, Kinyamkela, and the queen herself. Ahadi's yellowed bronze was a trait of the royal line, something that Mufasa had rightly inherited. Kinyamkela's sun-gilded straw was a mark of her rogue heritage as much as Uru's burnished amber, which Taka was sure to possess under his own infant spots. "Your cubs," Uru said, trying to hide her mingled enthusiasm and disappointment that Kinyamkela was there denning with her. Enthusiasm because it meant that all of Uru's questions could be answered without having to go through anyone else: disappointment that the pride should feel the need to isolate them together. Do they trust us that little because of our rogue blood, or is this just a reaction to Naima's death?
Kinyamkela looked down at the two cubs curled at her side. "Yes," she agreed, smiling proudly at them. "My cubs. My daughters, too." She looked up at Uru inquisitively, the bare beginnings of an idea etching its way across her features.
"I have thought about it already," Uru told her flatly. "I did not know you had two daughters, though; just the one." She motioned slightly towards Naima's daughter. Kinyamkela followed the gesture.
"Yes," she said. "I was told while moving them here that you had come up to the main cavern." Uru felt her friend's curiosity and concern more than she actually saw it. "What, by the Four, possessed you to do that?"
"Are you going to reprimand me, too?" Uru snapped. She had had enough of this banter; between the pride's disapproving looks and Ahadi's decree last night, the Four knew she did not need Kinyamkela telling her what a fool they believed her to have been as well.
Kinyamkela apparently took the hint. Reclining, half-closing her eyes, she said, "No, but you and I both know Who walked that night."
Uru frowned. "Yes, I do, and I know that the Full Four watched my cubs for me while I was away that short while. They were safe; I'd stake my life -- now and any others the Four may grant me -- on it.
Her friend looked at her, ears perked, intrigued. "All Four?" She leaned forward. "That, ndugu, is a feat. What interest do They have in us that All would come to watch two cubs, be them princes or not?"
Uru shook her head. "I don't know, and you have no idea how badly I wish I do." She sighed. There was something that must be told, that must be removed from off Uru's chest, and no time was more ripe than this. "I heard One of Them that night," she said quietly, staring at her paws. Beside her, Kinyamkela shuffled upright.
"Which One?" she asked, breathless.
Uru's eyes darted quickly to catch the other lioness in her field of vision. Kinyamkela was listening intently, fear tingeing her scent. The only possible One among the Four was the Second, Saada Imara, Whose coming and going could be either blessing or curse. Why bother asking when that was the truth of the matter? Uru sighed, "You know Which One."
Silently, Kinyamkela nodded her acknowledgment. There was no need to ask. "I'd say I'm sorry," she said at length, "but I'm not so sure I should be." Either blessing or curse.... Uru didn't know whether she was glad or not that she had finally told someone -- if anything, it just seemed to dig up all of her old worries anew. Neither spoke for what felt like eons while Uru reassured herself feverishly -- silently -- that the Goddess did not always cause harm and that it stood to reason that She was actually helping her.
A cub mewed and both lionesses turned to their respective children. "One of mine," Kinyamkela grinned, nudging the pale cub. It squirmed against the contact of the great pink nose, and Uru found herself grinning, too, despite herself.
"Have you named them?" she asked her friend. Now felt right to bridge the subject, and possibly other related ones as well.
Giving her daughter a once-over grooming, Kinyamkela said, "Yes, I have, and this little monster" -- she scooped the pale cub to her -- "is Sarafina." She considered her daughter for a moment, then nosed her back to a spot at her breast. Sarafina began to suckle almost immediately. Her mother continued, "The others seemed to think that Naima's -- my -- daughter would follow her family shortly. So, her life being such a fleeting thing, I named her Sarabi." Kinyamkela flashed her a mischievous grin. "Mirage." It was just like her to mock them thus.
"She survived, though," Uru noted, studying the young Sarabi. She looked healthy enough and certainly no worse for wear than her foster sister. And, if anything, she looked to be of a stockier build than Sarafina, probably due to their different lineages -- one pride, one rogue.
"That she did," Kinyamkela agreed. "She showed them all."
"Indeed," Uru said, a small, knowing smile on her lips, "and I know how to let her show them still." Kinyamkela peered at her, bewildered. Does she fear what I may have planned? Uru wondered briefly. Fear of the unknown was natural enough, and certainly her friend did not know entirely what she had meant by those words. She smiled broadly at Kinyamkela. "I was thinking of betrothing her to the heir," she said.
Kinyamkela stared at her, speechless. From the way she had mentioned that she had two daughters Uru knew that the thought had occurred to her, but doubted that she had actually expected anything to come of it. But why not? These four were the only cubs in the pride at the moment; it only made sense that, with one as heir and in need of a queen, one of Kinyamkela's daughters -- for indeed they were hers, even if she had not borne both -- should be that queen. "And," Kinyamkela finally managed to squeak out, "which one is the heir?"
Uru nudged her slumbering eldest. He stirred slightly, then settled back to sleep against his mother and his brother. "My Mufasa," she said.
Kinyamkela chuckled fondly. "I remember that name. It was from a story Mother told us, was it not?"
Uru nodded. "Do you recall the story?" she asked. "For the life of me I cannot."
The other lioness shook her head. "Not much," she admitted regretfully. "The hero was great indeed, though...but I do not think it was a happy legend...rather, it was a tragedy...."
Uru tensed at Kinyamkela's tone, the musing having taken on an edge that Uru recognized as prophetic. She licked Mufasa fiercely, her maternal instinct flaring suddenly to savage life. "Well, no tragedy will come to my Mufasa. Not so long as his mother is here."
Kinyamkela stared sadly at her. "I'd watch my words if I were you, Uru. You know the Four could arrange that into truth."
Taka shari...to defy...to challenge.... The words swirled in her memory, brushing senses she had forgotten she possessed. Her vision narrowed, black swallowing all but a small claw tip of light. Dust clogged her nose and throat as the black solidified into the walls of the Pride Lands gorge. She could make out no details and it was only a feeling in her gut that told her that she stood staring down its length. A low note, a vibration, ached distantly in her bones, growing steadily stronger, until the very earth shook beneath her paws. Thunder rolled to the flashing strikes of thousands of hooves....
"Uru!" Kinyamkela swatted her, sending the vision away. She started at the calm familiarity of her surroundings. Breathing heavily, she stared fearfully at Kinyamkela. "What did you See?" her friend asked gently, persistently.
"I...I don't know," Uru gasped. "Nor do I wish to!" Even as her memory touched the vision, she felt it reaching out again for her. No no no, she would not go back to that. She shuddered, drawing in on herself. What she had seen was not real and would not -- could not -- happen. But what had she seen? A stampede in the gorge and nothing more, so why did it frighten her so? Why now did she refuse to see the vision out to its conclusion? I am afraid of what I might see. The ability to know the future was a priestess's task, not a queen's, and she was no priestess. Her mother might have been at one time, and one of Uru's sisters had gone off to become one herself, but Uru was not of that order. Such visions had been warned against by their mother; they were never to seek them, but rather were to let them come when they would if they were not trained to do otherwise, because that was Seeing through the Goddesses' Eyes and could be, like a visit from Saada Imara, as much blessing as curse. Had her mother been there now, Uru would have found herself reprimanded for forcing the Eyes closed. But Uru did not want to See. Let the future remain a mystery, for I do not want to live knowing that all will come to naught. She prayed as though she were alone and Kinyamkela not watching her acutely. She did not want to See...and something shifted in the back of her mind, as if a boulder had fallen to lie barring entrance to a cave. With her mind's eye, Uru examined it, prodded it with a mental paw: the boulder did not budge. She would not See.
"Uru?" uncertainty had crept into Kinyamkela's voice, making it waver as she spoke. Did she fear the vision or what Uru had done? Uru met her gaze and she felt Kinyamkela's eyes probing her. The queen refused to break away. Kinyamkela dropped her eyes first, closing them, shaking her head sadly. "You have made a terrible choice, ndugu," she said, "and I only pray that They will grant you the chance to rescind it in due time."
Uru ignored her. She knew what she had done and it was no mistake to her. Kinyamkela thinks that I have rejected the Four, but, no, I did not do that. I have only kept Them from making me See through Their Eyes. How could she make Kinyamkela understand? Seeing such had always been hardest for her -- it came naturally to Kinyamkela who, Uru suspected, had she not stayed at Pride Rock, would have joined their littermate in the priestess sisterhood -- and she had shied from it for most of her life. Yet, not until now had she ever felt that she had reason to shut her eyes entirely to it. The mere memory brought the sound of pounding hooves to her ears. She shut it out, physically and mentally, by focusing on her now-nursing cubs. Let the Four have Their Way, for there was no other, but let her have her own hopes live until such time as They saw fit to dash them. Kinyamkela said nothing more to her and Uru could only hope that she had not alienated her by her choice. "I wish not to See," she told her helplessly, praying that she would understand.
Kinyamkela groomed Sarabi, not bothering to look up or even to so much as acknowledge that Uru had spoken. None other in the pride would dare insult her thus. Uru did not care.
"Kinyamkela?" she asked desperately. Ndugu Nne, don't let her turn from me, too! Please, do not let her turn!
The other lioness fixed her with unflinching water-blue eyes. "I cannot forgive you that mistake, Highness," she told her flatly, speaking as much like a priestess as an uninitiated could. It was the first time Uru could think of that Kinyamkela had called her by title, and it made her blood run cold. Never again would it be the same between them -- always there would be this. "I thank you for the kindness you have shown my daughter," she continued, so formal and distant that it seared Uru's soul just to hear it and know that it came from her friend's -- her sister's -- lips. A tear slid down her cheek.
"Don't do this, ndugu," she pleaded, her voice weak, constricted by her tightened throat. She opened her mouth to say more, but the words would not come. She would that she could heave her heart into mouth so that she might be better able to articulate what anguish she was going through, just how much this desertion -- deserving or not -- could destroy her.
Kinyamkela met her eyes, her own softening, and, gently, licked away a stray tear from Uru's cheek. "Ndugu," she whispered and the fierce devotion in that one word cut into Uru as surely as had the coldness that had fallen mere words earlier from those same lips. "I do not abandon you any more than you do Them, but still I tell you truth when I say that you have made a grievous error.
Uru did not hear her -- did not care that she did not -- burying her head in Kinyamkela's throat. Sobs wracked her as relief washed over her in a flash flood, crashing over everything in its path. She had not been rejected after all. She had not been rejected. The realization pulsed through her steadier than her rapid heart beat, repeating itself over and over in her exhausted brain. She had not been rejected. Fatigue set in as she lay with her head still buried in Kinyamkela's throat, and her sobs quieted to silent tears. She felt rather than heard when Kinyamkela began to purr.
----------
Uru awoke from exhausted slumber to the sound of something dragging across the cavern floor. She raised her head from the ground, aware that Kinyamkela was already awake and had probably never fallen asleep in the first place. Shaking her head to rid herself of the last drowsy vestiges of sleep, Uru searched for the source of the sound. Kinyamkela was just settling down next to her again, a young gazelle dead in her jaws, lying between her front paws. Uru straightened up. "Delivery?" she asked, suspecting that one of the pride sisters had made and brought the kill for them.
Kinyamkela started, probably not expecting her to have woken yet. The other lioness grinned around a mouthful of gazelle neck. She shook her head and released the animal from her grasp. "Nope," she panted. "Caught this one myself."
Uru furrowed her brow. "How...?" she wondered aloud. The eyes and ears of the pride must be everywhere by now, paranoia over the potential loss of anymore cubs having set in full force upon the pride. Surely, Kinyamkela could not have gone hunting unnoticed, no matter how skilled or silent she may be.
"Same way you catch any gazelle," Kinyamkela quipped, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes telling Uru that she had known exactly what she had meant by the question but had decided instead to make a joke of it.
"But, they let you?" Uru tried again, far more articulate this time around and not bothering to specify just who they were. That the pride would let Kinyamkela come and go as she pleased while confining their queen was, in and of itself, not a new concept to Uru -- the Four knew that she was always under an extremely watchful eye. One of the downsides of being Queen. Of course, conversely, one of the upsides was that she could order them to leave her be, where as Kinyamkela could not. And then there was always the fact that her children would get the chance to actually know their father. Uru had never met hers and she doubted that many others lacking royal blood could say much more of their own experiences with paternal relationships.
"Why shouldn't they?" Kinyamkela shrugged, placing a paw over the gazelle. "Mothers have to eat, after all, and you're the hunt mistress so they've got to work harder to keep themselves fed, let alone us as well." She bent down and opened the carcass with a swift tearing bite to the abdomen. "Hungry?" Uru's stomach growled in response before Uru could even begin to formulate an answer. Kinyamkela laughed heartily. "I'll take that for a 'yes'," she said, positioning the gazelle so that the both of them could have easy access to all the choicest parts.
Uru put any further questions on hold while she and Kinyamkela ate their fill. Her friend had certainly been right about mothers needing to eat; if they didn't, their milk would suffer for it, and the cubs suffer for that. It was a small gazelle -- really only barely a meal for one lioness -- and, though it served to quiet her gut for the moment, Uru was far from being full. Still, it was undeniably better than nothing. When she finished, Uru reclined to properly groom her face and paws while Kinyamkela grabbed a femur, slender as it was, and began to gnaw on it, working for the marrow within. Uru watched between paw-swipes to her muzzle, washing off the blood. I am avoiding it, Uru realized at last. There was a subject that she had to breach in regards to Kinyamkela hunting. Yes, because her friend was not queen she was not bound as she was to the whims of the pride -- and she had no authority by which to cast those same whims aside. Yet, still, if the pride had seen fit to advise -- even order -- Kinyamkela to den with her, then why would they let her leave her cubs to go hunt when the pride was perfectly capable of doing it? The hunting capacity of the pride was not so badly crippled by her absence as to make it necessary for her and Kinyamkela to provide food for themselves. It simply didn't make sense. Just the other day Uru had practically found herself banned from the main cavern of Pride Rock and an elegy for a pride sister, while today Kinyamkela was free to roam the savanna in order to hunt.
The bone cracked, compelling Uru away from her thoughts. Kinyamkela had succeeded in gaining access to the marrow. Uru watched, her mind going back to the question she had put off so that she could eat properly. She cleared her throat. Kinyamkela twitched an ear, a signal that she had heard and was listening despite still appearing to be completely absorbed in the bone. "They do not care if you risk injury hunting, but I can barely be trusted to leave this cavern," Uru did not bother posing it as a question; she was laying the matter down before them as surely as Kinyamkela had the gazelle. Her tone, however, had more bitter edge to it than Uru had both intended and expected.
Kinyamkela raised an eyebrow, looking up at her from over the ruins of the gazelle femur. "You are queen," she pointed out simply.
"Yes" Uru agreed, not caring now that her voice was harsh, "I am queen and yet they trust me as well as they would a member of Mvunja's pride." More than once Uru had heard Ahadi mention that neighboring king -- there was some border dispute between the two, both claiming a sliver of land and neither being able to evict the other from it definitively. The animosity went back a ways, or so Uru understood it, to before even Mohatu's time. It was, in essence, a pridal war fought with scent markers and egos more than claws and teeth.
"If they trusted you that little" -- Kinyamkela balanced the bone absently between her paws, the exposed hollow where the marrow once was jutting up as if expecting to be chewed upon again -- "then you would be dead by now." Uru winced. That was true: she would have been killed -- there was no love lost between the two prides -- but it would have been a physical death. What they were doing now was far worse. She chose not to voice the thought, since it would serve nothing. At this point all she wanted to know was why Kinyamkela was given so much freedom while she herself was denied so basic a thing. Her friend sighed."Ndugu," she said, pushing the bone aside altogether, "I have not been entirely truthful with you." Uru turned to her, puzzled. It had never occurred to her that Kinyamkela might deceive her -- they were as much sisters as two lionesses could be without being related by blood and, despite that, were probably more like sisters than some lionesses who had that blood-closeness. "Ahadi bid me come here so that you would have no need to go far from your sons. He worries about you and them, and so does everyone else. Naima's death hangs all too heavily in our minds and, while, by comparison, myself and my daughters are unimportant, you and your sons are irreplaceable." Uru opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off. She wanted to say how Kinyamkela and her daughters were important -- equally important -- to her. Kinyamkela continued, "I do not see the kindness in this confinement, but I do see the wisdom. Your mate knows you value your freedom, Uru, but he also knows that the pride cannot stand to loose a member of the royal family. Give them time. They'll come around."
Lowering her eyes, Uru relented. So, that was it: fear for her safety and that of the two princes. Sometimes it seemed to her that overprotection was as harmful to its object as no protection. She turned to her sons. A tiny part of her told her that, if not for them, she could come and go as she pleased, she could hunt whenever and wherever she chose, she could travel to the far reaches of the Pride Lands and beyond if she wanted, and she could visit the lake near the border that only she knew of if she so desired. It told her that two cubs were small compensation for the freedom she had lost and that there was a way to regain that which was rightfully hers. She smothered that part of her which whispered such evil things to her heart. These cubs beside her were innocents -- it was not their choice to be born to a queen on the same night that one of the pride died in child birth. It was the Will of the Four and so she must accept that, for if there were any with whom to be angry, it was Them. But what did mortals know of Their design? The Circle of Life did not so much turn as it did spiral, ever creating itself anew, different with every generation. Otherwise, forever would the future be doomed to repeat the past and we would learn nothing as we lived. The past would be our future and the present nothing but a wall of thorns preventing us from stepping off the path to follow our own way. The Circle is the path of our lives unwinding before us, and ever does it swing round in balanced destruction and creation, death countered ever with life, always in balanced measure. Though the paths of our ancestors may serve as guide, those of our family parallel or diverge from our own, and those of our friends may tread for time -- both long and short -- along beside us, none of them tell us that we must follow always their footsteps any more than we tell them that they must follow ours.
"Well, hello there, little one," Kinyamkela cooed, and Uru turned from her thoughts to see just who it was that her friend was talking to. Taka had awaken, perhaps disturbed by the unfamiliar smell of a kill, and was crawling his way over to investigate the other lioness, or perhaps even the other infants.
Uru smiled and scooped him back to her. "You, my little prince," she scolded tenderly, "are too young to be exploring. Back to your brother with you." He mewed as he found himself once again against his older sibling, who was still napping quietly. Uru groomed them both and Taka settled down.
"That one," Kinyamkela chuckled, "promises to be a pawful, I think." She paused, tilting her head slightly to one side, examining Taka critically. Uru felt herself tense up, the fur on her nape rising, worrying if her friend would offer prophecy or Sight. If so, she did not want to hear it, same as she had not wanted to See it. "I don't believe you introduced us," Kinyamkela said at last.
It was all Uru could do to keep from exhaling too conspicuously. Shaking her head, she said, "No, I don't believe I did. That little 'pawful,' as you put it, is Taka."
"Taka?" Kinyamkela looked at her in surprise, almost concern. "Such an odd name," she said, eyeing Uru as if she had sprouted a springbok's horns.
"I don't think so," Uru said, intent upon defending her choice. If she would not let Ahadi change her mind, as she had decided when she named her youngest son, then she would not let Kinyamkela, either.
"You don't? But, it means --" Kinyamkela broke herself off, apparently unable to say what she wanted to. What she had intended to say was a mystery to Uru.
Uru stared at her. "It means 'to wish' and 'to ask.' I see nothing odd about that."
"Oh...oh!" her friend sighed, shaking her head, a relieved and faintly embarrassed smile on her lips. "I thought you meant --" She broke off into laughter for a joke that Uru had clearly missed, the queen just staring at her in utter confusion. Kinyamkela forced herself to quiet her laughing. "Never mind what I thought," she said, rubbing at her eye with a paw. She had been laughing hard enough to cry, Uru realized. What, by the Four, had been so funny? "It is a fine name," Kinyamkela smiled, calm at last. "But, tell me, does Ahadi know that he has missed out on all the fun of stressing over the naming of cubs?"
Uru, deciding it best not to find out whatever it was that Kinyamkela had found so amusing -- she had a strange sense of humor, at times, to begin with -- shook her head. "No, and I think all the choice he gets now is agreeing with me." She flashed a teasing smile at her friend.
Kinyamkela nodded, sharing her smile and clearly enjoying the light-hearted air. Uru, too, was feeling better than she had in what felt like eons, even when it had probably not been more than a day or two. It was as if they two were adolescents again, making jokes at the expense of the pride lionesses -- considering themselves to be so much better than them because of their rogue heritage. Uru knew far better now: pride and rogue were best evaluated on an individual basis. They were all children under the Four, and, thus, one and the same. Uru stretched, infused with a sense of freedom and peace she had thought denied to her since word had reached her of Naima's death. Whatever appeared upon her unwinding path, or those of her two sons, in this moment, she felt ready for it.
