”Father! Where are we going?”
“To the edge of the boundaries, Hian. I have told you this before don't ask again.”
“...I'm sorry, Father.”
Nav'hian had always known that his father hated questions, but as a cub, he had little control over them bubbling out. His shoulders were hunched now, though the quickly straightened at his father's next words.
“Straight up! I did not raise a gorilla!”
“Sorry Father.”

Nav'hian moved from the den where Fura slept peacefully. Perhaps he should have woken her, told her he was going out, but he was afraid she would ask why and the male simply didn't have an answer for that. The night was heavy, still warm from the day, the sky clouded and no stars present. He missed them, he realised. Out in the rogue lands, you would always see the stars.

He began to walk through the dens, careful not to disturb any of the slumbering families. The dens were large, or small, or just average sized, and each one housed a loving family. Cubs. Banu. People who wanted to be there and for a moment, Nav'hian was hit with a tidal wave of want. He wanted...to feel wanted.

”Why are we going to the boundaries, Father?”
“To scout for any rogues who think they can stumble across them as if they were nothing.”
“But why? Don't we want rogues, father?”
“No! The only rogues which are acceptable are females which we choose to bring back with us. I have told you this before, Hian! Do you never listen to me?”
“Of course I do father!”
“Then stop asking idiotic questions and keep your eyes pealed for the boundaries.”
“Yes Father.”


He was at the boundary of the pride before he knew it, and he gazed out. There was no set boundary that distanced the pride from the rogue lands, no giant wall or trees. It was just...a place where everyone knew that home had ended and strange lands had begun.

They had youth out there, he realised. Some of the young men at reached adolescent, and soon the Sultan's son's would reach that age as well and they would stumble out, unaware of the dangers, and try to prove their worth. Nav'hian shuddered at the memories of his own quest, but then again, perhaps their fathers would prepare them better than his did.

”Advice?” A roaring laugher followed. “Why don't I just follow you out and hold your paw while I'm at it, Hian! Advice.”
Nav'hian stared at his father, worry showing clear in his eyes. Either his father did not see it, or chose to ignore it.
“You will make me proud, Hian! On your own merits, or do not return at all!”
“...Yes, Father.”


He never got advice. He never got tips. He was shoved out into the world, parting ways with his friends and going it alone, like his father told him he had to. He had heard two brothers, one of the Vizier's sons he believed, talking about sticking together. A clever plan. They could help each other. He had wanted help, when he was hungry, but he wasn't given it.

He closed his eyes, and leant against one of the rocks that bridged the gap, half in the rogue lands, half within the pride's.

He knew his father would think him pathetic, but he missed his mother. At least, she was one of the few who had cared for him, without reserves. Well, she cared when his father's back was turned.

”Where did you get that cut, Nav?”
“Oh, father and I were practicing.”
“Practicing! What practice requires you to be injured?”
“Fighting, Father says I must know how before I am a Pad, in case someone wishes to take my Banu from me.”
He knew his mother was holding back, wishing she could call his father's lessons 'nonsense' but she couldn't, or she would be hurt more than a cut.
“Let me clean it, at least. No use you getting infected, then you won't be able to fight anyone.”
He could hear her heartbeat in his ears as he rested against her, too old to seek comfort from his mother, but not old enough to not want to.

He didn't wish to return to the rogue lands, he knew, even though he occasionally missed the sights he had seen. He was home now, back where he belonged, back where he was raised. He even had a Banu of his own, Fura. She hated him, but still she appeared to care. She did not turn him away, or yell at him, or act out like some banu might. He closed his eyes, flashes of his mother returning to his mind.

She had always been scared of Father. Terrified of saying something wrong to gain the attention of his explosive temper. She was obedient, never turned him away and she took care of him, not matter what. Nav'hian's eyes slid open and his shoulders were heavy. He didn't want that from Fura. He didn't want her to hate him, to wish he wasn't there but pretend to love him when he was around. He didn't want to be that kind of Pad.

Pathetic, a voice sneered and he struck out, hitting the nearby rock and crying out as his paw throbbing in protest. He hunched over, clutching his sore paw, hoping he had done no damage to it in his act. It would likely bruise beneath the fur, hurting only to him and never showing outwards. He wanted to laugh. Oh, how ironic.

He straightened, getting to his feet slowly. His paw stung when pressure was placed on it, but he did not fear it slowing him down. He glanced over his shoulder at the rogue lands as he moved away from the boundaries. That part of his life was over. It was finished.

But he still felt the shadow of his former self, the adolescent not prepared for the responsibility of his own existence to be placed fully on him, lingering in his wake. He had not been prepared for the task of earning his right as a Pad, and he was still not sure if he was ready to be a Pad, but he knew – oh how he knew – what kind of Pad he didn't want to be. He never wanted to see the fear in a females eyes, like he saw in is mother's every day. He would raise no family like his father raised him.

”Stand up straight, Hian! I swear, you are trying to embarrass me!”
“Hian! Stop that, you are not a cub! You are old enough to know better than to play in puddles! That is shameful behavior.”
“Do not let me down, Hian.”

Nav'hian had always tried to do what his father had asked him, but he felt a little thrill at knowing he had not obeyed him in all ways – he had, after all, let him down over and over again.

He did not move back to the den, and instead, perched himself on a rock he had once favoured as a cub - before his father told him that lazing around was a disgusting habit - simply to watch the darken sky and wait - patiently, impatiently, or maybe just desperately - for the sun to rise over the pride lands.


(WC: 1,252)