Welcome to Gaia! ::

First sight, perhaps
A white leopon resting in the shade of a tree, mid day’s heat beating down on his green pelt. A silver stripe ran down her chin, framed by darker grey. She is beautiful, he believed, more mirage than flesh, and was hesitant in his approach, remembering others. Remembering rejection, laughter. She stirred, he spoke. “You’re like a cloud resting on a mountain.” He retreated, prepared to run, she smiled and laughed. But the laughter was different, kinder. Something sweet.

He returned

and bowed his head. “Allow me to introduce myself, my lady.”
She smiled. Repeated his name, “Tendaji.”

The lies, perhaps
She had injured her paw. He had fallen in love.
He offered to hunt for her, to find meat for her. She demurred, modest

but surrendered to his insistence. He hunted

and dug a den for her. He slept at the entrance, a gentleman. She laughed at his jokes, smiled at his stories, smiled at him. He felt himself grow hot, fur prickling beneath her gaze, a questioning, hungry look behind his eyes. He wanted her, he swaggered for her, but he would not touch her.

She came to the entrance while he slept

stroked his face with a paw
“Shhhh,” she breathed as he grew tense
“I love you,” he whispered
to which she smiled
and he gave in.

The lessons, perhaps
He dug a bigger den so they might sleep
one against the other and
she taught him how to please her.
He hunted by first light and returned eager for a smile, her praise. By night his reward was routine, the art of seduction. She hurt him during their love making but he learned

that this was normal, what all couples did. She called him pet and pressed herbs so gently to each scratch and bite that he forgave her. He developed no scars

where eyes could see.

Running away, perhaps
He grew tired, hungry, weak. He stumbled during a hunt, returned empty pawed. He asked – he dared! – if her paw was better and she spat. Asked where the meat was. She was hungry, why was he back with no meat? He gave her a look betrayed and lay down to rest. She would not touch him that night, would not let him sleep beside her. Whispered that he did not love her, was not a man. He tried again the next day, caught an unlucky hare. She ate the legs the body the head while he watched with hungry eyes. Purring in contentment, she raked her claws across his cheek, a stinging caress, but he turned away, too tired for games. “Don’t you love me pet?” she asked. He closed his eyes, she grabbed his chin. “Look at me!” Her claws drew blood and at last he managed,

“No, I don’t love you.”

She stared, she laughed. It was the same sweet laugh as always but now he heard the cruelty that ran beneath. He turned to go

and she tripped him as he might trip a gazelle, pinning his body and striking his face. He twisted and fought, but she had started stronger, more lion than leopard, and grew fat while he grew weak. He fought with claws, she fought without

until his legs were pinned beneath the body she pressed against his. He could smell her excitement

as she lowered her face and whispered that nobody loved him. Not his mother not his father not his brothers. He roared his protest and she dug her claws into his shoulders. “How many women!” she shouted. “How many before you found me? And not a one, not a one would take you.” He started to shake as she licked his nose and continued. Stupid, pitiful, rotten. He was right to worry about his green pelt – it was ugly. Why leave? He’d never find anyone better, he’d never find anyone at all. A mistake and a failure, his family was better off without him. She got up, he ran. She groomed her shoulder

before chasing him down. She ran slow, just behind, until he fell. “Oh pet,” she sighed, “I wish you hadn’t done that.” He tried to stand, she pushed him down. “I don’t like threats,” she purred, “but what was the name of that darling niece of yours again?”

Sing-song she recited the stories he had told her, the games that cub played, the things that cub liked. The color of her pelt. Where she lived. And what a shame, what a shame if she were to die…
He panicked, he cried and pleaded. “Don’t run,” she said, and licked his tears.

When something broke, perhaps
He was a pet, his name was Pet. His duty was to hunt, to follow each command. To return empty pawed was to be beaten, to return with food was to watch her eat

and wait. A scrap, a bone. Not enough to live on, not enough to grow on. His ribs showed, his head hung.
Pet, pet.
He waited for her praise, almost smiled at a happy purr. They no longer made love, she still hurt him. He said nothing, simply lay at the back of the cave

and waited. She treated each scratch with herbs and explained, patient, that as long as he was good they could be happy, that as long as he was good she wouldn’t beat him. She called him pet

and he closed his eyes. Death would be too sweet.

She sent him hunting, he collapsed.
“Get up.”

“Get up.”
His body refused any command, he lay still.

She nudged his body, rolled it over.

Whose voice? He didn’t know, was only aware that he was dying, dying in the hot sun.