Timeline: Current; So's litter nears adolescence and Chyou's are full-fledged adults.
Chyou was lounging in the sun when So came to tell her Wari finally asked about his mother.
The morning was young, the weather comfortable and perfect for dozing if not for the presence of a troubled friend. Parental languor being one of her more notorious flaws, Chyou was always surprised and flattered when he saw fit to approach her with these quandaries. She sat upright, rotated her ears toward him, and blinked away any semblance of fatigue.
"He's asked before, hasn't he?"
So shook his head. "It's different this time." After he'd paced a few steps each way, he turned and placed a paw to the stone. His countenance was that of a worried father, something she'd heard his lifelong friends and even his own family had never expected from him.
"He's not just asking about where she is anymore," So said. "He wants to know the specifics. Her favorite food. How we met." He further averred that his son's curiosity was no longer placated by vague answers and distractions. Generous offers of extra meals and day trips just the two of them didn't have the same leverage as when Wari was a cub.
"Just tell him what you know," Chyou said kindly. Her paw covered his and she donned the same reassuring smile his son had seen many times. He continued to look perturbed, but she patiently explained that Wari was a bright, compassionate young lion and he wouldn't expect anything unreasonable from his father. Such was her ardor and affection for this unique family they'd cobbled together.
"I guess you're right," So conceded.
After he'd left, she found herself contemplating the ideals of a friend she'd once known in the roguelands: Everything happens for a reason, all storms will pass, and Mkodi did not burden her children with more than they could handle.
Chyou approached it all with an open-minded brand of skepticism. Having met several Gods and Goddesses she couldn't very well deny their existence, and Mwokoti had ensured her Mkodi was their maker, though no one had seen her. But Chyou had witnessed with her own eyes too much hardship to believe everything was part of some divine afflatus. Mkodi couldn't be such a tyrant as to teach them lessons through plagues and floods.
Sometimes bad things just happened. Sometimes mistakes were made. If you were lucky, they ended up for the better... Had she not been lonely and vulnerable enough to spare a night's company to a dubious male of unidentified origin, she would never have had her sons, her daughters.
Granted, raising them had been its own challenge at times. She'd been harshly berated by more than one mother whose own offspring had been victimized by one of her twins. Then there was the feedings and teaching them things — practical things like hunting and moral lessons on how to sound of mind as well as body. She had been overwhelmed by it at times, petrified at others.
What surprised her the most was that you never stopped worrying just because they got older. All of them, daughters and sons both, outsized her now. They had their own ambitions, their own opinions, their own friends... She'd never been so ignorant as to think your motherhood status was revoked after your offspring reached a certain age, but she had expected their independence to abate some of her anxiety.
Any blossoming romances she feared might lead to betrayal. Anytime they were on a hunt without her, she was always aware of the potential hazards and the injuries they risked. She confessed these doubts only to Fefe, her friend and fellow mother. To say them directly to her offspring would only make them dismiss her as worrying too much. They didn't need her anymore, but she would always be here in case they did.
Would she do it all again? Some days, she could think of nothing else. After nursing So's in place of their (supposedly) late mother, Chyou was tempted. Later, Amira was blessed with seven of her own, and Chyou had been certain she wanted more. But how? With whom?
Other days, she was more diffident and reserved about the idea. She found thinking on it with a critical and realistic viewpoint, as opposed to daydreaming about it with her head in the clouds, didn't leave her with the same fervent convictions that motherhood was worth the repeat. There was nothing in all of Africa she'd surrender any of her kin for, but she was getting old... getting tired.
So returned to her in the evening when she had settled by the watering hole. They exchanged customary greetings, despite having seen each other a matter of hours ago, and from that point the conversation took a turn for the obvious.
"You were right," So said. "I told him everything I knew, which wasn't much, and he was fine with it."
Chyou nodded. Her reflection stared back at her before it turned to him. "Would you ever want more?" she asked.
He obviously hadn't derived any intentions from it that weren't there. He shrugged and replied, "I don't think so. These three are wearing me down as is." He grinned. "I'll just spoil the grandkids rotten. I'm hoping Siri has one just like her."
"I hope Hari and Yue have four just like them," Chyou joked. "A set of identical twins for each of them."
"It'd be poetic justice for them to spend their days trying to tell them apart after all the times they gave you trouble about it. At least I got stuck with a male and a female."
"I can only imagine the ridiculous things Hari would name his. He kept a flower as a pet once and was so embarrassed about it he didn't even tell his brother. Guess what he named it."
So thought for a moment. "Yue?"
"Flower," Chyou corrected.
So chortled, "Better than Wari's butterfly. The name wasn't as bad. I think it was Bahada. But after he accidentally crushed it, I had to convince him it was fine and find another just like it."
They laughed in unison, each shaking their head. Once it subsided, a cozy silence surrounded them. They noticed a bird land in the tree not far off. Three hungry fledglings greeted her with a chorus of chirps.
"I'd have more," So admitted.
"Me too," said Chyou.
