Thunder rumbled in the distance as grey clouds rolled. A storm was on its way, both a blessing and a curse really. It had been weeks since the last rains had fallen and the dry grasses and nearby plains spoke of a need for water. They were grey and brown, brittle and stiff, and prone to catching fire. . . . Smoke had raged in the distance earlier, in foreign lands away from the Kitwana'antara, but enough so the ash and smoke reminded them all of fire.
Thankfully the great plague goddess had kept the raging fire at bay, though all the ash and smoke in the air didn't ease the suffering of the members. Those in advanced stages of the disease had coughed continuously and spit up both blood and ash . . . While those in lighter stages merely suffered from a rancid cough.
So the storm approaching, clouds dark and black and soaked full of rain was a blessing. . . . Let it ease the suffering of the land as well as the suffering of the pride as a whole. Making her rounds on the borders, the grey female paused now and then to cough or rest and catch her breath. Morale was seemingly low and many in the pride distant. . . .
Perhaps they were only distant when she was around? Lately the poor queen had feared their judgement and wondered what they thought of her as queen. She was young yet and though she knew of her duties she didn't have many options. She needed an heir . . . she needed to produce a litter so the pride might see new life. There were still able lions, some young nad even around her age she could choose from . . . . but the question was who might make a good king?
Love wasn't an option. Looks mattered not. But what was important was who had what it took to be a good king? She'd need to discuss it with her uncle, perhaps. . . . see what he thought. Heaving a small sigh, coughing lightly and wincing as her bones and sides ached from the heave, the lioness continued on her way amongst the borders.
