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 Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 10:13 am
 Maua stumbled across the small stream, hissing in pain as frigid water stung the cuts on his feet. Paws, once shiny and black, were now brown with dried mud and dust. His white fur was caked with dirt, giving his coat an ugly brown sheen to it. His half-grown mane was tangled and snarled, pink hairs twisting into knots and clinging to each other for dear life. His grey eyes were dull like the morning fog that swirled around him, cutting him off from the rest of the jungle.
He was alone. He had been alone for a few weeks now, but it was only starting to hit him now. Cast out by his family with nowhere to go, Maua had run off into the jungle, desperate to get as far away as he could before he did something stupid like going back and asking for mercy.
But Maua knew nothing about the jungle. He didn’t know which paths to take, which kind of water was safe to drink, which animals were easy to hunt. He should have gone the other way and made for the savannah. But the jungle had been closer, and so Maua had chosen it for his place of exile.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 10:14 am
Exile. It seemed like an alien word to him. To think that he, the bumbling, clumsy, childish, wimp of a lion he was could be called exiled just didn’t seem right to him. To think of the reason why he was in exile made him feel even worse. Murderer. Traitor. Disowned. He had no family anymore. He was no longer a member of the great Flower clan, who had served his pride as soldiers ever since its founding.
His former pride, he meant.
Maua never really had that many friends back in his old pride. Often times he had tagged along with Purua’s friends, who were never subtle about how they didn’t enjoy his company. But Purua always stuck up for him. Purua always managed to include him. How he missed Purua. He wished he had the chance to say goodbye, to explain what happened. But now Purua would come back from his apprenticeship, ready to take the warrior’s test, and find that his two siblings were dead.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 10:17 am
The pink male tripped over a large root sticking up from the ground, hidden by the fog. With a yelp, he went tumbling head-first into a marsh, stagnant water splashing up around him. Maua panicked, scrambling up to the surface. A log blocked his path. Maua tried squeezing past it, but found himself stuck in between the fallen tree and the mud of the bank. The lion twisted and thrashed, but his hips remained pinned. His eyes darted around, stung by the murky water, searching for some way of escaping.
He was running out of air. Maua pushed up against the log, back feet kicking out in the water, trying to find some sort of purchase on the muddy bank. But the mud tore away underneath his flailing claws, kicking up in the marsh and clouding the water even further. The pink male wriggled his body like a snake caught in the grasp of an eagle’s claws. Finally, his hind legs caught on to a rock buried beneath the mud, uncovered by his previous flailing. Maua pushed up against it, front legs shoving the log down. The fallen tree gave under the lion’s weight, moving just enough to free his captured hips. The lion swam up to the surface, lungs screaming for air.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 10:19 am
His grey nose broke the surface, the rest of his head following shortly after. Maua gasped for a breath, coughing and sputtering the marsh water he had accidentally sucked in. His entire body felt weak. He could barely move his paws to swim himself over to solid ground. The lion heaved himself up onto the dirt, collapsing in the mud. His chest shook with each breath, paws trembling with the remnants of adrenaline. He panted heavily, focusing on nothing else besides refilling his body’s supply of oxygen.
Shaking, he sat up onto his hind legs, checking himself for any injuries. He was completely covered in mud. Algae clung to his fur, green globs that grabbed onto his paws as he tried to wipe them away. Maua bent down to lick one off. The taste of rotten plants and marsh water made him gag. He wiped his tongue off on a clean part of his paw, spitting out the remaining algae. It would be impossible to clean off all of the mud. Perhaps he should keep it on. Maybe it would provide him better camouflage, Maua thought ruefully.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 10:20 am
A breeze whispered through the trees of the jungle, making Maua shiver. He hated being wet. Not only was he soaked to his bones, but he was also tired, sore, and terribly hungry. He wasn’t meant to be out on his own. At this rate, Maua would starve to death. Maybe that was why his parents hadn’t just killed him inside their den. Maybe instead of a nice, easy, quick death, they wanted him to suffer. They knew he wouldn’t be able to fend for himself on his own.
The male slowly got to his feet, mud already starting to make his fur stiff. He had to find something to eat, or at least a sunny patch where he could dry himself off. Gods be willing, Maua would make it out of this alive.
He wondered if there was a god of jungles, or swamps, or even the lost and exiled. Surely there would be a god for murderers to pray to, but Maua was willing to bet he wouldn’t be a very nice guy. But Purua had said that there were gods to look after everything, even though you couldn’t see them all the time. So Maua closed his eyes and sent out a silent prayer to every god he could think of, asking for help and guidance.
The breeze kicked up again, tugging him north. Maua opened his eyes, looking around to check if anyone else had seen what had just happened. The breeze pulled him again, harder this time, blowing some specks of dust into his eyes. Maua blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes on the back of his paw. Unable to think of where else he could go, Maua headed north, dirty paws sinking in to the wet earth of the marshes.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 10:23 am
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Maua stumbled across the small stream, hissing in pain as frigid water stung the cuts on his feet. Paws, once shiny and black, were now brown with dried mud and dust. His white fur was caked with dirt, giving his coat an ugly brown sheen to it. His half-grown mane was tangled and snarled, pink hairs twisting into knots and clinging to each other for dear life. His grey eyes were dull like the morning fog that swirled around him, cutting him off from the rest of the jungle. 