Sliabh closed his eyes as the pain in his heart spiked again, worry like tiny needles prickled over his skin and an old pain reawakened in his chest, shortening his breath for a moment. Yet he knew he had to be strong for her, had to show nothing but the solid strength his wonderful family had come to expect from him, to need from him in these difficult times. Already he had lost one child to the disease well before his time. Ruko's passing had been hard and yet it had also been a blessing, for the young male had suffered terribly, his illness hitting hard and violently. yet there were four bundled of joy that his beloved son had gifted the family with before he left this pained existence for a happier, healthier one in the Beyond, and Sliabh adored the four cubs. He told them stories of their father when he was a cub himself, stories that had not had time to dull with age in Sliabh's mind. Those periods with the cubs were bitter sweet for the older male, as they reminded him strongly of the son he had lost, but they represented the hope for the future that every member of the pride held.
Taking a calming breath he put thoughts of Ruko and the young cubs to the back of his mind and ducked into the healer den where one of his younger daughters, Ruko's sister, was resting.
Saoirse had been admitted to the healer's den several days ago, discovered by her older sister Caoilainn out near the border of the pride in the middle of the worst attack she had so far suffered. It had taken all day to recover her strength and make her way back, Caoilainn at her side, supporting her the whole way. Sliabh, her father, had been sick with worry once he had realised Saoirse was missing, and had finally found them just after they got to the dens. He had left Caoilainn with her sister and fetched his mate himself, then stayed by his daughter's side that entire night. Now, days later, she was still weak and recovering from the attack and the aftermath as her already weakened body struggled to recover from the sudden progression of her disease.
The sound of someone slipping into the small den made her blink open pale eyes, and a warm but tired smile curled across her muzzle at the sight of her father's large frame in the entryway. "Hi papa..." She croaked weakly from where she lay amid a deep bed of thick furs and moss.
Sliabh smiled gently, amber eyes just like his daughter's running over her thin body as he padded over and settled down next to her. His long, rough tongue licked at the tuft of dark fur on her head, the old, familiar caress making her smile gently and turn into the solid warmth of her father.
“How are you feeling?” His deep, husky voice murmured gently, the love he felt for her easily heard within it. Her soft tender smile, worn though it was, broke his heart anew. “I am recovering, papa.” Her delicate voice, made wispy by the sickness that ravaged her delicate frae, replied tenderly. “Mother gave me a new draught and it seems to be helping.” The threat of another cough made her fall silent and Sliabh leaned down, resting his head beside her own, his thick black mane felt prickly and wonderfully familiar against her fur.
“I am glad.” He rumbled in reply, smiling gently even as worry filled his gaze. He didn’t want to lose another child... not so soon. He had always known the risks, being born immune in a pride where so many fell under their Goddess’ curse, he had lived longer than most full blooded lions in the pride. He had seen his own siblings die one after other, his parents had both passed away before he was even full grown. Every single member of his close family was dead and he the only survivor in a pride where death followed their every step. Now another of his precious children was sickening and the pain was just as sharp, just as agonising as it had been that first time, when Ruko had been so very sick, and the day he had finally asked his father to accompany him to the border of the pride so he could pass in peace.
Tears misted his vision and he shut his eyes so his daughter would not see them, for she had enough to worry about already. Yet the grief rose in his heart, blocking his throat with a rough lump of emotion. He had not truly grieved for his son, had not allowed himself the time when there were four cubs to care for. But now, with the prospect of losing another child before her time, the grief washed over him, squeezing his heart like it was trapped in a constrictor’s coils. Swallowing the sob that struggled up his throat he shifted to curl round the fragile body of his daughter, easing her against the warm strength of his body as if holding her so close would protect her from the ravages of the disease.
Saoirse wasn’t fooled when her father closed his eyes so tightly as the telltale wetness seeped down the fur of his cheeks, to be matched by her own tears as her heart broke for him. Much more than her own sickness, she grieved for the lions like her father who were immune. For they were the ones who lived on while those they loved and cared for died around them. Her life may be shorter than his, but she would never know the agony of losing bits of your soul one by one. She knew she was loved, had been surrounded by her family for her entire life, short though it might be, and she would never trade that loving warmth and security for being immune. She hoped her sister was spared so much loss, for Caoilainn had so far remained healthy and strong, just like their father. With the last of her strength she snuggled into Sliabh’s warmth with a gentle sigh, licking his cheek gently before closing her eyes and letting her body relax into sleep. Her last thoughts were for her siblings, and the hope she held that they would know the same happiness that she did right then.
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