“I stumbled, and fell,” Idonea ducked down a bit. She’d tried not to limp too badly, but… She supposed it was rather hard to miss the swelling in her face and torso.
“Yes,” the lion said flatly, “I gathered that much. Care to elaborate?” Despite his inflection, Idonea understood it wasn’t a question.
“I went fishing down by the lake—”
“You went fishing?” Einarr was now past the threshold and Idonea flinched as he approached. “Idonea, look at your claws. Those are not fishing claws.”
He was right, she knew. A cheetah’s claws were far too dull to effectively hook swimming things. That’s why she’d been mostly using her mouth. And it isn’t as though that had never worked; she’d caught fish before. Just not for a couple years now.
Idonea thought back to a successful fishing trip. Her young master had been losing his milk teeth and was in that awkward, gaps-in-the-mouth, in between stage. The loss of his incisors was sorely felt. But Idonea knew that fish-flesh was soft, and flaked off in a way the meat of ground-dwelling beasts didn’t.
A sharp pain brought her back to the present, and Idonea realized she’d inhaled too sharply for her bruised chest.
“I just got back to the pride lands. I don’t have the energy for this,” Einarr sighed, “Many, if not most, of the healers are probably at the homecoming.” The very beginnings of a half-smile lingered a moment at the corner of his mouth, “The trouble will be finding one that isn’t drunk. Can you make it there, or should I send one back to you?”
“I don’t really think I need a healer; just time. A few days will mend me.” Idonea could remember earlier days, when a much smaller and greener Einarr would say the same thing to his family. And shoo away any of Idonea’s attempts to help.
Einarr considered this, then looked her over again, “I’d rather one take a look at you and say as much himself. Can you walk?”
Nodding, Idonea half-limped toward the entrance of the cave.
* * *
“Mm, yeah. She’ll be fine,” the healer slurred slightly, raising his voice to be heard above the other celebrants, “Don’t see any deep cuts, just a few scrapes. Nothin’ seems broke. S’long as you don’t have her movin’ things bigger’en her for like… a week? She’ll mend up okay.”
Einarr thanked him for his time, and turned his attention to the festivities. His thrall made her way to a (very relatively) quieter corner of the party. She was getting a little old for this, Idonea decided, looking around at the homecoming. It wasn’t always that way.
How long had it been since that evening after Einarr’s first viking? It seemed so long and so short a time a go all at once. It seemed to her that she had celebrated as hard as any of the returning reavers that night (though, in the back of her mind, Idonea doubted this was strictly accurate). Her former master, Einarr’s father, had cursed her for a fool in the weeks leading up to it. Her charge was a full grown lion; there was no reason whatsoever for her to fret. Idonea had still seen a mere cub when she looked at him, but he was not. Einarr was Stormborn, and he would not fall on his first raid.
He’d been right, of course. Einarr had returned home to the pride lands a little leaner, perhaps, but bearing the spoils of fruitful viking. His first words to his family that evening had been, “I am now a reaver. My ancestors have smiled upon me this raid, but in the future they will laugh in triumph for the glory I will being to my family and myself.”
Idonea had looked at Einarr for that moment as though he were an entirely new person. An alien lion wearing her charge’s skin. She wondered if she would even know him again. Then the instant passed, and she chided herself for being so dramatic. That night she had returned to her sleeping quarters to find a new, plush fur lain over the others that made up her bed. A small, unremarkable act of kindness. The unmistakable sent of her charge still lingered there. With a near-silent sob of relief, she realized that the cub she had minded was not entirely gone from the lion he had become.
The cheetah was jolted back to the present when an adolescent freeborn knocked into her. Idonea inhaled sharply at the stinging impact (and immediately regretted it, when her chest reminded her it was currently important to breathe slowly and shallowly). The lioness started to apologize, saw who (and what) Idonea was, and decided a reprimand was more suitable. “Don’t sit out in the open, thall. ’Less you wanna be trampled.”
“Of course,” Idonea replied, “my apologies.” She stepped farther back as the lioness rolled her eyes.
* * *
“I think you’re about ready to go home,” Einarr said, coming up to Idonea’s side.
“Are you?” she asked, reflexively.
Einarr blinked at her, slowly. “No,” he said, “But I’m not the one who went half-mad and tried to go swimming.”
Fishing, Idonea thought. But she knew much better than to correct her master. “I wouldn’t want to be a reason for you to leave early…”
“You won’t be,” Einarr assured her, “I need to get something from my cave, anyway. I may as well take you along while I’m headed there.”
“Then, yes. I would like to return home.” She really wanted to sleep, but she wasn’t sure if her master might have some chores in mind for her to do first.
The two of them headed back to Einarr’s den (Idonea stumbling a bit along the way). When they were back, Einarr tossed on an odd talisman he had obtained on a previous raid. “You should sleep. You’ll heal faster that way.”
“Yes. Thank you, master Einarr.”
The lion grunted, and left.
Idonea reached her bed, and stopped. There over her older furs was a new pelt, warm and soft and still smelling of the one who had lain it there. Yes, she thought, lying down. Some aspect of the cub was still woven into the lion he had become.
1068 words.