((^ I know, I'm so creative xD))
Crap. Not for the first time, the thought flashed through the pale lion’s mind as revelation slowly dawned on him. He had done it again.
The morning was beautiful, with a sky as blue as blue could be stretched above him and the sweet smell of a gentle breeze blowing lightly past him. And as he had opened his eyes and shifted to roll onto his feet, he had realized with a jolt that there was a… body beside him. He jerked to his feet and stared at her, dumbfounded. Another one??
“I have… I have to stop doing this,” Ferawyn muttered to himself, even as the lioness turned and woke up, and faced him with a bright smile. “Uhm. Morning, love,” he managed-wait, what? NO, not love! That was going to give her the wrong idea! Flailing mentally, he forced himself to continue. “I mean, I… yester-uhm.” And there she lay, watching him expectantly. And he knew what she was waiting for him to say. After all, he had gone through the trouble of stealing her away from her mate, and she had complied, and…
Oi…
“Look, Idon’tloveyou.” He blurted. Silence. And then the unmistakable look of realization, then hurt, then indignation passed over the lioness’ face. And finally, rage.
Cue Ferawyn’s exit. The white lion turned and fled.
---
Gunnar had been out for a while, but he hadn't really done anything to bring glory to the pride. He had tried to capture a thrall, but the lioness had turned out to be a cripple. Why, he hadn't even been able to overpower her ... she'd kindly offered herself to him as though offering a treat to a small, sad cub. It was pathetic, really. Failure upon failure!
He had to do something to prove his worth. The scars he had gained from honorable battles fought were impressive, but he wanted something more concrete. No one in the pride could possibly doubt his prowess as a warrior, but he had to bring something back. Gunnar wanted to contribute beyond just fighting. He wanted to bring back a thrall, some cubs - anything.
The white lion running across the savannah might just be that anything.
Gunnar narrowed his eyes, assessing the stranger. The lion was moving fast, but Gunnar did not believe he was charging. Rather, the white lion looked as though he were fleeing some terrible monster. The white lion did not look like a warrior, heavily scarred and fierce. Ideally Gunnar would have tried to capture a lioness, but he was growing desperate. It would be a bit more difficult to overcome a full-grown male, but he was confident that he could do it. He began prowling towards the strange lion even as the white lion galloped towards him. Why chase when the prey was coming straight for him?
---
OH DEAR. He could swear she was catching up, even though he couldn’t… quite see her. The thought that perhaps she hadn’t even bothered to give chase never crossed the pale lion’s mind. Experience—and he had had lots of experience with this very same flee of shame—told him that chances were, she was coming for him. She was right on his tail somewhere, somehow, and if he didn’t keep running his a** off, he was going to catch him and then beat the living daylights out of him.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
In the distance, and getting nearer every second thanks to his flat-out gallop, Ferawyn thought he saw… OH! A lion! Instantly, his spirits soared. There was hope! He didn’t care who that lion was, if there were two of them, he imagined that their chances of beating an angry lioness were good. “HEY!” He yelled out. Everything was louder and faster when his adrenaline was pumping.
---
Gunnar kept prowling towards the strange white lion. The lion really was running at breakneck speed. What could he be running from ...? Gunnar shook his head. Something foolish, probably. Most of these outsiders were weak and stupid. He could have been frightened of anything.
Now the lion was hollering at him. Not roaring a challenge like a proper Stormborn charging at an outsider. Just yelling, like a panicked cub calling for help. Good grief. If the white lion didn't pull up soon, though, he might just crash into Gunnar and send them both to the ground in a tangled heap. That would be undignified and unnecessary.
The blond lion halted, bracing himself. If the white lion didn't slow down, he would sidestep and lash out at him, hopefully scoring some good deep slashes along the speeding lion's side. That would slow him down. If the white lion DID slow down, though ... why, Gunnar would just leap on him and commence to beat him. He grinned rather nastily. "Hail, stranger!" He yelled back, his voice full of wicked good cheer. The delight was at meeting a potential slave ... not at meeting a potential friend.
---
Damn, that lion sounded just as happy to see Ferawyn as the white lion was to see him. He slowed, barely, and pulled up short, mere steps away from the brown lion. “Good thing you’re here, brother!” He blurted out, speaking almost as quickly as he had been running moments before. “I’m in a spot of trouble, see. I do this thing, which, I never really intend to do, it just kind of happens, and so anyway, I sing to this girl and the next thing I know, I’m awake and she’s there, and, geez, she has a mate for god’s sakes, what is she doing just turning her back on him like that, and I didn’t mean for it to happen, so I tell her I don’t love like she thinks I do, and this happens all the time, and I don’t know, I try to stop but it doesn’t really work and anyway, now I’ve got this lioness on my tail, and I swear she’s going to beat the living crap out of me, but I think if we stick together she’ll scare off.”
And all that, he managed almost in one breath. Having finished, he drew a deep, gasping draft of fresh air and beat away the faintness that was beginning to bug him. At least he was safe now, here with, uh. Whoever this was. It didn’t matter. Bros stuck together, no matter what.
---
The white lion stopped in time. Gunnar should have leapt then, crushed him to the ground, but instead he was blasted by a stream of babble. The blond lion let it wash over him, feeling somewhat stunned. Was this how foreign males behaved? The white lion was rambling worse than any female Gunnar had ever met, and to a complete stranger! It was shocking.
Although he tried, Gunnar failed miserably at following the tangled thread of the white lion's words. Something about singing and lionesses and mates? It was all very confusing, and likely something he wanted to know nothing about. Gunnar was very firmly not interested in the bizarre and disgusting mating habits of outside lions. One word did stand out though: Brother.
Gunnar's brothers were Stormborn, and this ... this person was certainly no Stormborn. He scowled at the white lion, baring his teeth. "I am not your brother, you mad beast!" The blond lion began circling the white lion, looking for an opening. He had to beat this lion good, but leave him able to walk humbly back to the stronghold. Without warning Gunnar lunged, striking out with one heavy paw. A test.
---
“Hm?” Ferawyn blinked, and then nodded and shrugged, still focused more on what he had left behind him, watching his trail for any sign of the lioness. That the danger was actually much closer had never occurred to him. “Don’t like brother? Well, that’s okay, what would you prefer, then? How ab-wut-“ Without warning, the brown lion’s paw came flying at him, smacking him across the shoulder. What the hell was going on? What happened to bros, damn it?
“Hey, hey, there’s no time for that!” He protested, still blissfully unaware of the fact that the brown lion was actually attacking him. “She could be here any minute, and she’s a lioness, yes, but if she caught us off guard, she could do some real damage.” Still, he complied with what he was convinced was a game, a friendly tussle between lions—as lions are apt to do—and took a small jump forward, reaching out with a paw to return the strike.
---
Gunnar was not pleased at not being taken seriously by this idiotic lion. The white lion was obviously startled, but not frightened. In fact, he actually seemed to think it was a game.
It was utterly disrespectful, and utterly infuriating. The blond lion slapped at the other's clumsy paw and jumped backwards, resuming his pacing around his enemy. "You fight like a puling cub!" He snapped. Not being taken seriously as a warrior was maddening. Was this idiot deliberately trying to enrage him? He scoffed. "You're afraid of some fool lioness? Is that what you were running from? Coward!" What a topsy-turvy world it was outside the stronghold, where lions ran from lionesses and fought like cubs.
Gunnar's scowl turned into a nasty, toothy grin. "Our lionesses are fierce, but I will protect you from them once you are my thrall." He said smugly. "My slave," Gunnar added helpfully, hoping to aid the comprehension of the stupid white lion. To further drive the point home, he leapt at his oppenent again, striking out with much more force this time.
---
… Darn, this guy was nearly as friendly as Ferawyn had taken him to be. Bad judgment seemed to be the flavor of the day. He pulled back at the slap, surprised. Hey… he wasn’t that bad! The white lion had always prided himself on being at least capable of putting up a good fight, even if that wasn’t what life was about for him. For him, it was the singing. It always had been, and, he imagined, always would be.
Or… might always be. The way things were going at the moment, it didn’t seem like he’d have such wonderful control over his own future for very long. “Thrall? Slave? Wha-” And finally, it dawned on him what was going on. s**t. His bright eyes widened as he leapt back desperately, but not quite quickly enough. The brown lion’s claws dug into his foreleg.
Well! He could already tell that his chances of winning the fight were bleak at best. But he wouldn’t go down without putting up a fight! Gritting his teeth, Ferawyn steadied himself against the ground and lunged back at his attacker. Damn it if he wasn’t going to give the brown lion a couple of scars to remember too.
---
At last the white lion was responding appropriately. Gunnar wanted this capture to go as smoothly as possible, but he was pleased that his potential new slave was fighting back. He would have to have some kind of personality to survive among the Stormborn. Besides which ... there was no real honor in bringing back a mentally defective thrall.
The blond lion laughed as his opponent leapt at him. He wasn't laughing for long - the white lion clearly wasn't the experienced warrior that he was, but he wasn't a puling cub after all. Gunnar snarled as the stranger's claws and teeth dug into his flank, the impact bruising even as he was cut and slashed. But there was no time to pause and moan about his hurts. He went back on the offensive immediately, lunging at the white lion and snapping his teeth, hoping to get some kind of hold on the other lion's neck or back. If he could just force him to the ground and beat him until he gave up the struggle, it would make things so easy.
---
AHAH! He had done it! The realization came as a bit of a surprise to Ferawyn. He hadn’t been in a serious fight for a good while (he had been spending his time doing what was more like the lion’s equivalent of climbing out the back window), and he could honestly say he had doubted his own abilities for a split second. But no more.
He scuttled backward several paces as the brown lion came lunging back. Undignified, maybe, but he had escaped the apparent stranglehold that the other had seemed to want to put him in—for a while, anyway. Except that… with a jolt, he realized that he had little idea what to do now, and in that moment, a million curses passed through his head, cursing his parents for not teaching him how to fight properly.
---
For all his apparent stupidity, the white lion moved fast ... fast enough to escape Gunnar's hold for now, at least. He scrambled out of Gunnar's reach before the blond lion could snap his jaws shut on more than air. Gunnar let out a frustrated growl. He was growing irritated, but he couldn't let his temper get away from him. He was trying to capture and subdue, not maim or kill. A crippled thrall would be no good to him ... and he was determined to make this lion his property. He was beginning to grow a bit embarrassed about his failure to bring a thrall home to the pride.
Although the white lion had evaded his attack, Gunnar realized that the white lion was frightened ... or at least confused, at a loss for what to do. The white lion had been lucky so far, but he was clumsy. Gunnar smiled rather nastily, approaching the other lion and circling him. "You know you can't beat me," He said, his voice dripping menace. "I don't want to cripple you, but I will if you keep fighting me." He was grinning again, fierce and furious.
---
Ferawyn pulled his lips back in a snarl. “It’s not over till it’s over,” he cautioned, though deep down he knew the brown lion was probably right. But this wasn’t time to admit defeat or to contemplate what losing might mean. Now was the time to put up as brave a fight as he knew how, and nothing else mattered. Besides, this whole enslavement thing was stupid. Who ever wanted to live without the freedom to do whatever he wanted?
Still, there was something eerily frightening about the brown lion’s grin, as if this business was actually enjoyable to him. He was beginning to look more and more like the type to pick fights where there were none, just for the sake of being able to beat up on somebody. Ferawyn shook his head and shifted, circling in tandem to the other lion, watching him carefully with his sky blue eyes.
---
Gunnar could not help scowling slightly as the white lion refused his offer. Some might be smooth talkers, able to wear whatever face they pleased, but Gunnar had never practiced much self-control in this regard. Certainly not when he felt upset. This white lion was really starting to irritate him. Truth be told, Gunnar had never actually captured an adult lion as a thrall before ... certainly not one resisting, like this white lion was. How was Gunnar to subdue this lion without damaging him?
Well, a few scars certainly wouldn't hurt. Blue eyes met blue eyes as the reaver snarled at the white lion. "Submit," Gunnar rasped, before leaping at his opponent once more. He was fighting more seriously this time, lashing out with his heavy paws in an attempt to clout the white lion over the head. If he could stun the stupid lion, he could easily throttle him into submission
---
Ferawyn supposed that, either way, he was going to lose. If he lost the fight, then whatever happened next would depend on the brown lion and if he won… well the other lion seemed angry enough that Ferawyn had little trouble imagining that he might end up dead for winning. Neither conclusion seemed particularly appealing to him, thought perhaps escaping with his life was the wiser choice.
Still, in the heat of battle, he couldn’t help but refuse to simply lie down and give up. It wasn’t going to be that easy. If the brown lion wanted to capture him, he’d have to work hard for it, that was for damn sure. “No,” the white growled, eyes widening as the other’s claws flying toward him. He turned his head to the side with his eyes squeezed shut, too slow, and felt pain explode across his muzzle as the other lion’s claws raked across it. Instinctively, he lashed back out with his own claws, reaching almost blindly. There was no strategy behind his attack, no aim for the other’s more vulnerable parts. But as long as he landed a hit somewhere, it would help.
---
If he'd been fighting a challenger, Gunnar would have been pleased at the feistiness from this stranger. But this was no challenge. This was a serious battle, one that would have to be ended one way or the other. Gunnar thought the white lion had resisted quite enough, and wasn't going to be pleased by any further uppitiness out of him. Just as he landed a good hit on the white lion, the other's claws lashed out, scoring across his chest and shoulder. It was hardly a mortal wound, but it brought a snarl of pain from the blond lion.
Now Gunnar was really growing angry. "Give up, fool!" He roared, drawing back for just a second. "I'll kill you if you don't! This is no duel!" He spat the last word, glaring furiously at his opponent. If it were a duel, if the white lion were an honorable challenger, he would surely have been driven off. No, the white lion was going to become his thrall one way or the other. Even though no one was around to witness Gunnar's shame if the white lion escaped, he would know.
Gunnar was not about to be shamed by some idiot. Without further warning he leapt for the white lion again. There would be no more words after this, no more chances for the white lion to concede. Gunnar was no negotiator, and he was fed up with trying. He aimed for the lion's hindquarters this time, seeking to knock him off balance and hopefully to the ground.
---
Give up? Hah! That was the last thing he would do. He was going down fighting, and if the brown lion did decide to kill him, then so be it.
Somehow finding extraordinary speed in desperate times, Ferawyn spun around, hoping to leap out of range and disengage, but just as he pushed himself off the ground, the brown lion’s lunge landed square on his hind legs. He felt himself being pulled back mid-leap, and struggled to find his footing.
Ah, s**t, he thought, and finally, he could picture the undeniable outcome of the battle. It ended it him falling, the brown lion winning, like he was always going to do. And that was that.
---
The white lion was fast with desperation, but Gunnar's reflexes were sharp from years of training. It wasn't a clean strike, bringing the white lion down quickly and easily, but it would do the job. The stranger was off-balance, struggling, and Gunnar let out a roar of triumph. He grappled with the white lion, claws out, seeking a more secure grip to drag him down to the ground.
Gunnar could sense the other's panicky desperation, and it pleased him. Despite his token resistence, the white lion knew that he was doomed. The reaver laughed, amused now with this fight. He could practically taste victory. "Are you done yet?" He roared, happily.
---
He fell to the side and hit the ground, rolling instinctively back onto his stomach to protect his underside. Yes, he was done, and it had been more than enough. He had fared better than he had expected, and for that, at least, he supposed he couldn’t be blamed.
He stayed where he was, without bothering to attempt another escape, breathing heavily from the physical exertion of the fight. His stamina wasn’t nearly enough to sustain another round of fighting, and his skill, clearly, was no match for the other lion’s. So he was done, and whatever happened now, he imagined, was out of his hands.
---
The other lion was down and apparently out. Although Gunnar was conditioned for battle, he was breathing heavily as well. The white lion had put up more fight than he had expected ... thankfully, not enough to matter in the end. The reaver remained crouched over his fallen opponent for a few moments, waiting to make sure that the white lion truly was subdued.
Finally, sure that the white lion wouldn't spring up for another round (he sounded too winded to attempt an escape), Gunnar relaxed his claws and leaned back slightly, giving the white lion room to rise. He would have to get up eventually, after all. Gunnar couldn't very well carry him back home. He watched the white lion closely, carefully, ready to attack again should his new thrall show any signs of rebellion.
"I am Reaver Gunnar, of the Myrsky Syntynyt," Gunnar said at last, proudly. He waited a beat for the white lion to respond, although he did not outright demand the other's name. It would be foolish to show so much interest in a lion who was now merely a thrall.
---
He watched the brown lion out of the corner of his eyes as his breaths began to return to normal. The aftereffects of the battle had yet to register, but it wouldn’t be long before his muscles decided to punish him for their physical exertions. He could see the angry red slashes across the top of his muzzle in his peripheral vision—two of, no doubt, many more similar injuries that would have to be washed at some point. Those would soon start complaining as well, and much as he was glad the fight was finally over, he couldn’t very well say that he was looking forward to what would come next.
Ferawyn rose as the brown lion backed away, shaking the dust from his coat. He wasn’t too sure how he was supposed to regard the other now, but that didn’t matter. No doubt it would be made altogether clearer over the next few days, but given his new situation, the white lion wasn’t too keen on thinking that far ahead.
Again, he shot the other a sidelong glance. “Ferawyn.” He returned grudgingly. And so it would begin, the next new chapter of his life. It would be a drastic change from the days of freewheeling and chasing tail that he had been living for most of his life, but perhaps that was the way it was meant to be. There might be something lying in wait for him here, and then again, maybe not. But he had been beaten, fair and square, and there was nothing for him to do but to go along and wonder what lay in store for him beyond this moment, here, with Gunnar.
/fin.
