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 Posted: Sun May 10, 2009 10:24 am
The blue marsh tossed sunbeams off its surface like a cat toying with a mouse. On the far end of the green marsh, in a field of tall, green reeds swaying in the morning breeze, with dark mud stuck between the folds of his paws, stood a large juvenile lion. He stood on the very outskirts of an unfamiliar pride. The wind from the swamps carried their scent through the trees and over the water toward him.
If any of the swamp lions ever saw a pridelander before, they would have recognized this cub instantly as a member of the pride without even sniffing him. He came from a line of pridelanders, a forgotten sliver of royal blood from the old king, and he looked every bit like his ancestors, aside from his white mane and white speckled fur. He wandered along the edge of the marsh, shaking his paws with every step and flicking his tail in annoyance. The pridelands were rocky with most of their vegetation around the large lakes. Being wet was an unfamiliar sensation. 
But now as she patrolled the edge of the territory a figure came into view. An unfamiliar scent came her way, matching the queer sight. However, she hadn’t seen a pridelander ever before, never smelt one either. Curiously, she moved closer, watching the colours become more defined and the shape of the young lion formed. Head tilted slightly, she pouted ever so slightly in confusion. What was he doing here? Where was he from? After all, he wasn’t of the pride, he didn’t smell like a swampie anyways, or a rogue. So why was he standing there, what was he doing here?
”Hello?” She called out hesitantly.
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Posted: Sun May 10, 2009 11:03 am
The cub turned around with a low growl, ears back. His blood colored eyes flickered over the creamy juvenile and blinked almost hesitantly. Oh, it was a girl. He relaxed slightly.
Not that he was in the habit of underestimating lionesses. His sisters were all strong fighters, just like his mother, and he’d had a nasty scuff with a lioness from a desert pride called the Firekin that left him with a couple scars, but this female smelled the same as the swamp. He knew a lot about the swamp lions. After all, his best friend was a swamp lion in exile. He stepped forward cautiously, awkwardly picking his way through the muck.
He was big for his age with muscular legs and shoulders that looked like they could heft a medium sized log with ease. There was something almost adult-like about him. His stance was defensive, non-threatening, but he didn’t seem to know what to say. “Hey,” he called by way of greeting.
He knew swamp lions? If he had said that out loud Bangili might’ve growled or gone on the offensive. She wasn’t a swamp lioness, even if her ancestors had come from that murky dungeon, Bangili hadn’t. She wasn’t like the lot of them, she was herself, and anyone who thought to group her with that lot, would’ve got a punch or two. Or at least, she would have tried, feisty as she could be; she wasn’t exactly the most experienced in combat, nothing more than a friendly scuffle of claws had grazed her pelt.
She noticed his size first. Lions were usually bigger at her age – and at any age, mind you – so it wasn’t surprising. And Bangili wasn’t small either, just average, plain old boring average. Then she noticed the scars. There was a curious blink but she didn’t want to pry – at least not yet anyways, that would be rude, wouldn’t it?
“Bangili,” her greetings were blunt as she sized him up, looking over his features. She knew he was from somewhere different, but where she didn’t. “Why’re you here?” It wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t a welcoming statement either.
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Posted: Tue May 19, 2009 6:40 pm
“What?” Oh, her name. This lioness was unusually up front about introductions. He straightened, holding himself up to his full height.
“My name is Vu. I’m… exploring.” His ears swiveled to catch a strange sound. He glanced up just in time to watch a stork gobble down a fish on the far side of the marsh. It was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen and he didn’t look for long. The lioness made him edgy. Ever since the encounter, he found it difficult to let down his guard around strangers and get into a playful mood the way he would when he was a cub. Those days seemed like a distant memory now.
She looked towards the stork, her eyes not flinching as it devoured the fish. It was gross. It was life. She winced slightly, but didn’t budge her gaze. “Morbid,” she muttered slightly before turning back to the male before her. “Nice to meet you Vu,” she said, though that was probably a lie. How was she supposed to know if it was a nice meeting or not yet, that would be decided later, she nodded slightly to herself, just to confirm her thoughts.
“Exploring,” she echoed, a larger nod now. “Looking for anything in particular?” She asked softly. She could use an adventure, she thought.
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Posted: Tue May 19, 2009 7:31 pm
Morbid was a new word for Vu. He’d never heard it before, but he knew instantly what it meant when he saw the stork gobble down its prey. His white tail whipped around indecisively. He wanted to attack her, just to relieve the tension knotting his shoulders and settle some doubts about her, but he restrained himself, knowing there might be adults around who would stop at nothing to protect her. Of course, he wouldn’t have done her any real harm. He just felt… uneasy.
“Heh, wouldn’t you like to know?” He shook himself, scattering the tiny insects that loved to cling to any swamp creature, loosening the unbearably tense feeling between his shoulder blades, and walked past her broodingly, almost brushing her with his side. He arched a brow at her. “You’re one of those spirit-talkers, aren’t you? A swamp lion.”
“Pfft,” she laughed at his question without thinking. “A swamp lion? Don’t they wish, they drag me here, they tell me this is my new home, tell me this is where my stupid ancestors used to live. So, apparently, by blood, yeah I a – what didya say? – spirit talker. Sure, whatever, call me that, everyone else does. Really, I’d prefer to be anything else but I can’t leave, not allowed to,” she muttered, a frown stuck on her face.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever make anyone feel uneasy before – though perhaps if she had heard it from his mouth it would’ve caused a small, slight smile of satisfaction, she couldn’t be sure though. Annoying, she had been, a pain she had been. Perhaps uneasy was a new record for her.
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Posted: Tue May 19, 2009 8:06 pm
The tawny lion flattened his ears in annoyance as she laughed. He wrinkled his nose – what was left of it. A small piece of it was torn off during his fight with the Firekin cub. As he grew older he could only hope it would become less noticeable.
“Well, you smell like a spirit-talker to me,” he said bluntly. “What’s so bad about being a swamp lion anyway? You don’t like getting your feet wet or something?”
“Oh, so smell determines everything ‘round here?” She snapped, exhaling the youth relaxed, “You spend a couple days here, you’ll smell like a spirit-talker too.” She paused and then dipped her paws deep into the soggy, unstable ground. “I can get my paws mucky with a single hesitation thank you very much.”
“But would you want to be forced into a pride? Forced to be happy here? Would you like that?” She asked, her voice returning to a calmer state, “I don’t. I wanted to choose my life and now… I’m here forever.” A smile slowly crept onto her face as she waved her paw quickly, mud spraying out at the male. With a grin and a wink she looked up at him.
“Of course, it’s not all bad, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”
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