He was tired. He was tired and he didn’t think he could keep going.
Life was a cruel mistress. It was hard to remember the days when he’d been more forgiving, more complacent. Happy memories of times long past had taken to blurring together in Jiwekali’s dazed mind, and try as he might he couldn’t piece together the broken remains. These were fleeting, wispy memories and he yearned to keep them close and sacred. He didn’t want to let them go.
Sleep was the only release from his thoughts, but even then he was tortured by dreams of his mate and his cubs. The not-knowing was what was killing him. What had happened? Where had they gone? Why had they left? Had they gone willingly? Had they been forced? Were they living lives of slavery now? Had his mate lied about loving him? He wasn’t sure anymore. He didn’t know what to think. All he was certain about was that he would die here in the sand, shriveled and starving, hopeless and helpless.
How long had it been since that day he’d returned home, robust and strong? He’d been hoping to see the bright eyes of his cubs and the loving face of his mate. How long had it been since he’d returned home only to find the den empty and without a trace of his mate and their children? How long had it been since he’d felt that fathomless moment of utter panic, a moment that stole his breath and seized his heart? He’d waited for days, never straying far from their home-den. Days turned to a week, and it was only then that Jiwekali had set out in search of his family.
Jiwekali couldn’t remember. He didn’t know. He’d searched for them without rest, without thought for his own well-being. There hadn’t been signs to lead him anywhere, and though he searched and searched he had gotten nowhere but… here.
Where was here? Jiwekali wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell where he was – the desert seemed vast and endless with softly sweeping dunes of sand. His eyes were gritty with the relentless sand that rasped against him. It was in his nose, in his lungs, his mouth. Despite all this, there was something utterly soothing about the constancy of the silky grit of the sand. Something welcoming.
It made him forget how hungry he was, the powerful cramping pangs clenching his stomach. It made him forget how thirsty he was, how alien his thick, dry tongue felt in his mouth. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Jiwekali couldn’t remember. He’d been driven by the primal need to find his family. His mate had smiled as he’d left to assist a nearby lion with a hyena problem. Jiwekali had promised he’d be back soon – no more than a few days. Where had she gone? Where had she taken his cubs? These were the matters that pressed in Jiwekali’s mind, not the trivial worries of food and water.
Here, now, the soft sand had him in a gentle embrace. His chest rose in irregular jumps. He was a husk of the lion he’d been before, the proud lion that looked after the family with all the love in his big heart. He was their mountain – after all, wasn’t that what his name meant? Jiwekali had always been a protector, strong and immovable against all threats against those he loved.
If Jiwekali could cry, he would. He would scream and howl and sob with all the pent up rage and fear and emotion he couldn’t express, but he couldn’t, not now. He was too weak, too far gone, near death. It took every effort he could muster to even breathe. His eyes, once vibrant and shimmering with life and laughter, now dull behind lids that were crusted shut with sand and mucus. His body, a body once so strong and rippling with muscles now a mere skeleton. Even his pelt that had once shimmered with robust health and vigor now draped over the skeletal structure of his body. Jiwekali was a shell of the lion he’d been before.
An empty, near-dead shell.
The sun was warm on his limp body. It wasn’t too hot nor had a chill taken hold of him. He felt as if he were floating on a soft cloud, a pillow of warmth. He was comfortable here in the soft sand. Jiwekali had accepted that this was his end, here on the endless sand of the desert. Perhaps in the afterlife he would see his family again. He could only hope that this would be the case. If it wasn’t, well, Jiwekali had come to terms with that scenario as well.
He’d given everything he could to his search for his mate and cubs. He’d dedicated his life to the past months of searching endlessly, tirelessly for them. There had been nights where he’d cried himself to sleep, the ache of missing his family so intense that it physically ached deep in his chest. He’d missed the soft snores of his mate, the fussy thrashing of his cubs as they dreamt. Jiwekali had missed the smiling eyes of his daughter, the study little body of his son, and the smiling face of his mate.
Had he done enough? The question plagued Jiwekali endlessly. Even here, now, on his deathbed of gritty sand and unforgiving wind, that question plagued him. Had he done enough? Had he given enough? Had he searched enough? His mind told him yes, his heart told him yes… but still, there was that small shadow of doubt that loomed over him. He should still be looking. He could still be searching for his family.
Forcing his eyes open as far as he could, he peered at the sky through small slits. It was dawn, or perhaps dusk. He couldn’t tell. Shifting now, he went to move his legs beneath him so that he could rise up. He could keep going, there was still more searching to be done, more questions to answer. He could find them. He knew he could find them.
A hoarse groan erupted from his raw throat as he fell back to the sand. No, no. This was it. He would die here in the soft, giving arms of the desert. He’d done all he could.
It hadn't been enough.
(WC: 105 cool
