Anya was still in the gorge, lying where she had fallen. Blood that ran from the wounds in her face had all but sealed one eye closed and now the other eye was struggling to win the fight. She was not sure how long she had been lying there, nor did she particularly care. She was certain that her face was ruined. Certain that Hala had left her all alone, not caring whether she lived or died…and…and she was certain, too, that her unborn children were…were…
…gone.
Hot tears escaped from her eyes and helped cleanse some of the caked blood from her fur and she shifted slightly so she lay on her side, her damaged leg extended out to help ease the ache in the muscle that had clearly been strained or maybe even torn.
She did not know it, but two days had passed since the incident that had seen her attacked and thrown to her death. Now she was weak, tired and ready to accept that this was the end of the line for her. Such a tragedy for someone so new to adulthood to face death so early.
A shadow swept over her. Then again. Then again. She lifted her face so that she might see what it was through one half-closed eye. It was a vulture, circling overhead, its harsh, croaking caws starting up as it saw that its meal was still alive. Anya let her head fall back against the ground and slowed her breathing, wondering how much longer it would be before the vulture got his meal.
She could go without food for a while. Lions did, generally speaking. But without water she would not last long at all. The only reason she had made it this far was that she had fallen into the shade of the north-facing side of the gorge where she was out of the baking sun.
The vulture moved on.
The afternoon grew later and Anya did not move, lying on her side, both eyes now closed, her breathing shallow. She did not even flick at the flies that crept up along her face, treading hatefully across her wounds. And then came another sound, a shrill cry of…what? A bird? And, as before, a shadow fell upon her and she tried miserable to raise her eyes to see whether the culture had returned.
It had not.
Instead of a vulture there was a large, brightly coloured parrot. She came to land a short distance away, ruffling her feathers and squawking in odd concern. Her head tilted this way and that, focusing one large eye on the lioness and then the other. And, eventually, seeming to realise she was safe from claws and teeth, hopped closer.
“Poor thing!” She cooed. “What happened?”
Anya managed to focus her one unstuck eye on the avian and stared wordlessly. Either she wouldn’t speak or she couldn’t. Lack of water the cause, maybe? The avian hopped even closer, extending a wing to gently touch the side of Anya’s torn face. The gouges had clearly been made of claws and most likely another lion. It was a sad thing, the avian thought, to have one’s own species turn against you.
“You got beat up pretty bad, sweetheart.” The avian continued in her typical motherly fashion. “Don’t worry. I’m here now.” Though just what she could do for her she didn’t know. “My name is Kucha. What’s your name?”
Again, no response.
“Well, no worries, you can tell me later. First, let’s get you up and on your paws.” She gave the lioness a little shove and then hopped a full circle around her, finally eying the awkwardly extended leg. “You hurt your leg, too? Did you…fall?” She lifted her orange-feathered head to peer up the side of the gorge. It certainly was a long way down from up there.
Seeming to realise she wasn’t going to get any sort of response back, the avian continued to talk to herself, if only to try and coax the lioness out of her inept state of mind.
“Don’t you worry, dear, we’ll get you up and going in no time at all. I know what you need. Water, right? Help ease your throat, give you strength. I know the area quite well and there’s a watering hole not far away. If you could manage to get there then that’s one step further along the road to recovery.” She paused, looking into Anya’s forlorn eyes and continued again, a little sadly. “Are you all alone, love? No family worrying about you? No friends?”
No answer.
“Listen to me, love. Things may seem bad now, but you’re so young. Too young to just give up on life. You need to fight, to show the one who did this to you that you are strong. That you’re not just going to let them ruin your life.” She spread her wings wide. “You have people who love you out there, right? Think a moment. How would you feel if your mother or father or sibling was lying injured somewhere and just waiting to die? Wouldn’t you be angry at them? Devastated? Worse yet. Imagine one of them had died and you never knew. Just never saw them ever again. Don’t you want to see them again?”
That seemed to have an affect on the lioness. Her ears pinned back suddenly and she gave a rasping little breathing sound.
“I’ll be with you every step of the way. I promise.” The avian continued, lifting her wings in a vain attempt to help support the female as she rolled herself onto her stomach. “That’s right. Easy does it now.”
And after a terribly slow moment of gathering her wits, Anya found her paws and, setting her weight very tentatively on her injured leg, she turned her bloodied face towards the direction the parrot indicated and set off.
Their pace was excruciatingly slow and a journey which should have only taken a minute took them the better part of an hour. Anya was forced to stop and rest after every few steps, her breath harsh in her lungs, her face swollen and sore and irritated by flies. The avian did all she could; encouraged her and swept her wings to try and disperse the flies.
And finally they arrived at the water’s edge and the parrot hung back as Anya drank. The lioness sucked the water up into her mouth, gulping the sweet, cool life into her body. In fact she drank for so long that Kucha became somewhat drowsy sitting there on the grass beside her. And when finally the female was done – bloated and heavy with liquid – she pulled back from the bank and collapsed heavily on the dusty ground.
Then Kucha moved forwards, cupped her wings to catch water and scattered the droplets across the ground; onto leaves and twigs and reeds. When that was done she selected a large leaf – wet through – and began to dab at Anya’s face. The lioness snarled – but that hurt, too – and after a moment of whimpering and growling she relented, allowing the avian to clean the slashes on her poor, ruined face.
When Kucha was finished, the afternoon was late indeed and Anya was flitting in and out of sleep, her eyelids flickering. The avian watched over as she slept and was there to greet her kindly when she woke just before twilight fell.
“How’re you feeling?”
A slight nod. No words but a nod was certainly better than nothing.
“It seems the only wounds you have are on your face and your leg. I don’t think your leg is broken. It should feel better after some days of resting it. As for the wounds on your face. If we keep them clean they’ll soon scab over and start to heal.” She patted the lioness gently on a forepaw. “You’re going to be okay now, dear.”
Another sad, slow nod; this one more hesitant.
For a moment Kucha thought the lioness was going to cry. “Dear, why won’t you speak to me? Can you talk? Is that the problem? You can’t speak?”
And then the lioness did break into sobs, shaking her head fiercely. And the avian, not sure what else to do reached up and embraced the lioness with her wings in a gentle hug.
“Shh dear. It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright…”
/fin.
