[PRP] Death to the falcons (Omurtak, Imitiyaz)

[Annchen]

So, they had won the last battle, but it hadn't been an easy victory by any means. Omurtak had walked away from it with his life, but not without injuries. It looked as if these wouldn't leave any scars at least. He did have a few paling mementos of past fights, but he didn't need to look at the scars to remember. His mother had not returned, but he knew that she had managed to bring at least one of their enemies down with her. She had been a very competent Muharip and he respected her for that.

Now was not a time to slack off, however. Omurtak knew he needed to work on getting back to his full potential unless he wanted to be left on the next dusty battlefield. Only a fool would celebrate a victory without thinking about the war that was still going on. As long as there was still living, breathing Qyrhyeshti left they could never rest. With this in mind Omurtak changed his brisk walk to a quicker trot to chase the stiffness from his legs. He favoured a route near the outskirts of the territory, but still well within the patrolled borders. He might run into a stupid enemy that had managed to evade the Muharip currently keeping an eye on the border, but the chance for that was extremely slim. Still, the tiny possibility kept him suitably on the edge as he ran.

He would soon double back and continue his routine by sparring with a battered skin hanging from an old tree. Attacking soulless objects might not prepare him for the way his enemy would fight, but if his paws made the same motions a hundred and more times they would remember the motion and he would be able to act without thinking when it was time.  

[MoonRazor]

Imitiyaz sim Fereydoun was having a hard time deciding. Of course, that seemed to be the case with him most days, but today was somewhat different. Today, Mitya couldn't decide whether he was uplifted or bummed, because he could easily have been either. His recent acquaintance with Parto, the pretty cream-colored lioness that had told him to find something to be good at, had given him a sense of empowerment that he hadn't felt in... well, ever. But at the same time, it had served to remind him just how short his list of achievements was.

It was more his norm to focus on the negative, and he was tempted fall to his own pessimistic nature and simply settle for being bummed. But somehow, that didn't seem quite right. So now, the pale lioness was wandering the pride lands, wondering what exactly it was that he was supposed to do.

Then another lion caught his eye. He was quite a sizable lion, from what Mitya could see, and he seemed well-versed in what it was he was doing (it took Mitya a second to realize that it was some sort of avoidance maneuver). An idea began to form in his mind. Now, if he could just... watch some others and see how they went about doing things they were good at... then wouldn't that help him? A small frown flitted momentarily across his brow, then he decided that he was right (which was a small victory in and of itself for Mitya) and set off eagerly after the other lion.  

[Annchen]

Omurtak wasn't a very large lion, but small was not the right word either. Compact. That was it. When he was in fighting mode he used his anger and aggressive energy to make the most of what he'd been given. His mother had mated with an outsider to bring in new strength to the pride, but her son had been small even with pride standards. It was ironic, really. Omurtak was convinced that all his good qualities came from his mother. He knew little about the male who had helped his mother conceive, but he knew the ugly blue marks were supposed to come from him. His mother had been the pure colour of the desert, but she was not among the living anymore.

The lion unleashed his pent up anger at the practice skin, striking it repeatedly with claws out. The next time he saw one of those filthy... Lets just say this skin was going to seem gently treated in comparison.

A movement out of the corner on his eye put him on edge, and he spun around with fangs bared.The fact that he recognised the other lion as one of his own was the only thing that kept him from attacking

"You're following me," he said, and not in a friendly manner, "Why?"  

[MoonRazor]

Oh, no. Busted. The fact that he couldn't even follow somebody without getting caught was somewhat disheartening, and if Mitya had been any less used to failure, he might have turned around and simply fled out of embarrassment. As it was, the pale lion simply sighed. It felt a little as though he was a cub again, getting caught red-handed while doing something he wasn't quite supposed to do, even though he wasn't sure what that was.

Surely, following was allowed?

"I met a lioness named Parto the other day. She told me I ought to find something to be good at," he said matter-of-factly. It was no secret within the Burkuteshti that there was one among them that had little luck succeeding in everything, and all his life, Mitya had encountered lions that knew him by sight because of that reputation. He wouldn't have been altogether surprised if Omurtak did too. But if he didn't, Mitya wasn't in the business of hiding the fact so perhaps the other would put two and two together either way.

"I was just watching you practice. I thought maybe watching you would give me some ideas. I don't really have any," he admitted candidly.  

[Annchen]

Omurtak had to fight an impulse to roll his eyes at the other male. Oh, he knew this one. The male had a reputation of being the kind of lion that couldn't find his own tail even with both paws and an assistant. The rumours might be exaggerated, but the pride was small enough that it was hard to hide both failure and success. He couldn't decide if he should be annoyed or flattered that he had decided to look to Omurtak for inspiration.

"You better follow her advice," he said gruffly, "Either that or get killed if you ever run into one of the Qyrhyeshti scum, and you will. If you can't fight you will die. If you can fight you will still die some day, but you can at least hope it will be a worthwhile death with slain enemies at your feet."  

[MoonRazor]

"Oh..." Mitya said quietly, growing silent and apprehensive at the thought of dying at the hands of a Qyrhyeshti lion. He had always counted on being able to simply run away from danger if ever he came across it - not the most.. dignified way to deal with a situation, but certainly the most likely to succeed. Although knowing Mitya, he would probably trip mid-flee and end up helpless against the onslaught of a battle-hungry Qyrhyreshti.

Death certainly didn't appeal to him one bit. He put his ears back defiantly. "I don't want to die," he said. Duh. But somehow with Mitya, it seemed like a revelation in and of itself. Perhaps it was. He had never really confronted the idea of his own mortality before, but had always assumed that he would be around forever, failing at this and that until the end of time.

Clearly Omurtak had a better handle on life and sensibility than Mitya did. "Oh, but I don't think I would ever have slain enemies at my feet..." he said rather sadly. Combat in close quarters would never bode well for him, he imagined, though perhaps he would have more luck (hah!) as a tactician behind the front lines of battle. That lurking behind was likely more cowardly than fighting didn't matter much to him. As long as he didn't come up all covered in scratches and scars, he was okay. With his luck, even the smallest scratch could become infected and end up killing him several days later.

"What can I do in battle if I don't want to be... in battle?" He ventured. Perhaps Omurtak would know. He seemed much more well-versed in the art of fighting than Mitya was or ever would be.  

[Annchen]

MoonRazor

Sorry about the long wait...

"Well," Omurtak said, "There's a choice. You can be the one with the slain enemy at his feet, or you could be the dead one. You know how those bastards work. They'll keep trying to steal what's ours until every last one of them is dead."

Qyrhyeshti lions were notoriously cruel and evil so Omurtak didn't have any illusions about solving the conflict without fighting them. What really puzzled him was Imitiyaz's reluctance to be a fighter. They were Burkuteshti! They were made to fight. In Omurtak's opinion the other lion didn't make much sense at all. What did he want? He talked like a coward, but he seemed to want to help.

"Well," he said, "You can't really be in battle without being in battle, can you? I suppose you could hunt to feed the other muharip if you don't think you could fight another lion. Why am I even telling you this? Even a cub should know it."