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Mopani was cranky. That was her usual state of mind in her crappy new pride. Today, she was especially cranky. That big fat oaf of a lion was out, and she was stuck cleaning his den. Honestly, he was a total pig. When his cubs were growing it was different. Cubs were messy. But now they were adults, and Taraxa was worse than ever. Leaving his used catnip everywhere, things trashed ... it was a mess. A mess!

Scowling, Mopani gave up on trying to tidy things and simply started kicking them out of Taraxa's den. Someone else could deal with it.

Kick. A reed mat went sailing out of the mouth of the den. It had been nice when Mopani put it down, but Taraxa had somehow spilled fermented fruit juice all over it and torn it up when he was doin' the n**.

Kick. Kick. Pieces of a smashed bowl that Mopani had put a bright feather and some pretty stones in. That grotesque lump had no respect for pretty things. He disgusted her. She hoped the pieces of the bowl would go flying right into his fat head and kill him.

Someone outside! For the tiniest fraction of a second Mopani thought that it was Taraxa, and her prayers had been answered. But the sound of the person moving outside was not followed by a scream of pain and a heavy (extremely heavy) thud. Instead, a female voice rang out.

How disappointing.

Mopani popped her head out of the den, glowering. Was it one of Taraxa's whores? The oaf thought he was a ladies' man, but Mopani had seen the kind of ladies he brought home. Good grief.

The lioness outside was much too pretty to be one of Taraxa's floozies. Mopani's glare turned down a notch. Just a notch. "The oaf isn't here," she said flatly.

The strange lioness didn't sound like the obnoxious female 'reavers'. Mopani thought they were almost as bad as Taraxa. Why would someone strive to be a big stupid male? Most of the females sensibly chose other professions, but the 'reaver' friends of Taraxa's .... euughhhh.

Mopani didn't know her, but she could tell this lioness had some class. "I'm Mopani'lo," she said, her voice slightly less cold. She wasn't about to admit to being that fool Taraxa's thrall. "Who are you?" Mopani wasn't about to bow and scrape to someone that just marched up to Taraxa's den. She tended to avoid these Stormborn idiots as much as possible, loathing the idea that she was their subordinate because foul Taraxa had crept up on her and smacked her head against a rock. If they sought her out, well, they would have to deal with her blunt manner.

A Bard! That sounded like a very useful occupation. Much more useful than sitting around belching and farting and sniffing catnip. Mopani was liking this lioness more and more. She bore an unfortunate resemblance to Taraxa, but it really was difficult to see, because Tazira was pretty and well spoken and Taraxa was a great fat filthy lump of ill repute.

As much as Mopani hated admitting to being a thrall, she supposed there was no way around it. "I was trying to clean it, but it's hopeless. Taraxa is disgusting," she said. She didn't want to accuse Tazira of being related to Taraxa, but if the two were related ... well, it was obvious that Tazira had gotten the good genes. "I'd like to say I'm a bard, but ever since Taraxa assaulted me I've been cleaning up after him." She sniffed. "He should marry Gunnar and get it over with. That lion wouldn't mind cleaning up his mess."

Mopani had grown a bit touchy since she had unwillingly joined this terrible pride, but she could tell Tazira wasn't laughing at her. No, undoubtedly Tazira was laughing at her horrible brother.

Brother. Mopani couldn't help shaking her head at that. Well, there was no helping who you were related to, and she supposed she could forgive Tazira for being fond of her brother. Just as long as she realized that Taraxa was a horrible, horrible lion.

Mopani was quite delighted at the idea of going back to Tazira's den. She kicked at the mess herself. "Of course I'll go back to your den. I would love to hear a song," she said, a bit dreamily. A song about how horrible Taraxa was would lift her spirits almost as much as being in the company of another sensible lioness. And the old fart Taraxa could hardly complain if his own sister whisked Mopani off. Ha!