IC Timeline: Amira's litter is still very young.
The sky was more grey than blue that morning.
For a long while the only sounds were the meek cries of seven hungry newborns. Having eaten their fill and taken to slumber, they hushed — all but one, that is. From within the cavern, Konja heard paws shuffling over dirt and stone. His sister. He recognized her stride; weary, uneven, and slow.
When she appeared in the open, he saw for himself how exhausted and filthy she was. Dangling from her jaws he spotted the culprit of the den's disquiet, a cub too small to stay entirely upright. Amira set him down and all four of his legs sprawled out. His belly was round and full; by all accounts, drowsiness should have taken hold. Still his eyes stayed alert and yet oddly vacant for one so young. Not once did he mewl at them. Konja smiled at him and looked up when he heard his sister bemoaning the situation.
"He won't sleep." Amira stared down at her son almost pleadingly.
"He's just barely opened his eyes for the first time," Konja reminded her. "I wouldn't want to close them either with so much around to see."
Amira shook her head. "He doesn't make much noise either. It's not normal, Konja. I think something's wrong with him."
If the cub squawked from dusk till dawn, she'd say the same. Amira was harried by doubt since the moment their mother turned her back on them. Neither he nor Amira had expected her to act so irate at the prospect of grandchildren, regardless of how and when they were conceived. She was still in the Pridelands somewhere, lamenting over her daughter's choices he was sure, but she may as well of been gone.
"Do you know how long I knew your father?" Alake had bellowed. "How long did you know him before you laid down? Did you so much as get his name?"
Konja spent an entire night at his sobbing sister's side, trying to console her to no avail. Three times since he'd approached their mother and three times after he was told the same thing: "We aren't like them in this family," Alake had hissed. Thinking about it made Konja grimace.
Lately, he'd done a lot of grimacing.
The cubs' birth had been strenuous for his sister, nearly fatal, and he found himself disgusted with the callousness Alake held to like a lifeline of her own. But she was still his mother and he couldn't stoke any long-lasting contempt for her. Tomorrow, he would try again, and hopefully she would see reason. Amira desperately needed her.
"Leave him here," Konja said. "Go back to sleep. I'll keep an eye on him until he nods off." When Amira didn't answer, he bowed his head and his eyes bore into hers. "I've got him."
He could smell the rot on her breath when she exhaled. "Fine."
"And when you're done resting, go the watering hole. How long since you last drank anything?"
"I'll go when I wake up," Amira promised.
The cub wobbled after his mother with more spirit than strength. Konja first lied down, then guided him away from his pursuit and into the warm, coarse hair of his mane. "What do you have against sleep, hm, little one?" His nephew continued to roam, his steps now aimless and unsteady. "You're going to be a great hunter," Konja said. The whole litter had promise and a full life ahead of them. For their grandmother to not want to be part of it baffled him. "She'll come around." He sounded more certain of it than he was.
Truth be told, he'd been just as surprised as Alake to hear Amira's expected brood would have rogue blood in them. A stranger's blood. He couldn't imagine what such a male could have done or said to win her favor, but it didn't matter now. Thankfully, the Pridelanders were an open-minded bunch and reproduced as the hares did; they wouldn't bat an eye at this litter.
"We'll have to find you names, you and your brothers and sisters. Something strong and silent for you."
The sky wept again, long into the afternoon and beyond. Konja, fearing the cub's thin, sleek fur wasn't enough to stave off a chill, curled his front legs around him and corralled the little thing into a circle. It extended only enough his nephew could peek out at the rain; not a drop would strike him despite his weak cries of protest and futile attempts to scale the barrier keeping him warm and dry.
Amira stayed true to her word and left for the watering hole when the rain subsided. Her choice of den was snug even for a lioness. Konja could only reach in far enough to place his nephew in the pile of his sleeping siblings.
Did his sister have any regrets? Konja wondered as he watched them. She'd always dreamed of a timeless love that would blossom and grow before any cubs came along. Instead, perhaps it was through her offspring she'd find this sought after unconditional affection. It wasn't quite the sort she'd longed for, but it would still greater than she could have imagined. He was sure of it.
"I don't know why she's so angry." Amira had returned and was so relieved to see each and every cub fast asleep she didn't dare risk rousing them. Like when she herself was young, she sat beside Konja, shoulder to shoulder. It had been awhile since he'd heard their sister's name, but Amira mentioned how much easier things would be with Tabia here. In due time this led to talk of their mother. "The Pridelanders have their cubs from rogue blood all the time... and the Mtaishi didn't frown on it either. From what dad said, neither did the — that other pride."
"The Unity Walkers, I think," Konja provided. The name certainly entailed a degree of open-mindedness.
"Yes, them. The Unity Walkers."
"It's just her way, Amira. Not this pride's way, but her way. I'm going to try to talk sense into her again tomorrow."
Amira sighed wistfully. "You're the best brother there is, Konja."
He only hoped he could be half as good an uncle without failing as a son.
