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 Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 3:06 pm
 Maua tracked the snake from his perch on the stump. It didn’t seem to see or smell him. At this point, Maua doubted if anyone could pick out his scent and distinguish it from the natural scents of the jungle. It had been months since he had given himself a bath. His mane had finally grown in, though only spots of pink could be seen beneath the dirt and mud. His white fur was now stained brown. Maua blended in with the dark jungle as well as the native species. He had learned much in his months here.
For example, he had learned that this variety of snake was not poisonous. But its cousin, whose colours varied only in the order of the serpent’s body, could kill a large feline in a matter of minutes. Maua shuddered as he remembered the event. He had been hunting the venomous snake, desperate for food at the time, when a leopard had swooped down from the trees and stolen his kill. Maua had been furious, for once in his life ready to fight for something that belonged to him. But the snake had whipped around in the leopard’s jaw and sunk its fangs into the feline’s cheek. He had watched as only minutes later, the leopard fell over, dead, half the snake still hanging from its mouth.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 3:08 pm
He leapt from his stump and landed on either side of the snake, paw coming down swiftly to crush its skull before the serpent could lash out with a bite. Maua tore the head off for good measure, tossing it into the bush. He picked up the body of the snake and made his way the makeshift den he had found. It would serve his purposes for a short while, but Maua never liked staying in one place. He was a wanderer now, always heading north.
Distantly, Maua wondered if his own family would recognize him now. He was bigger than he was when first started his journey, though cub fat still managed to cling to his figure. He most likely complained a lot less too, though that was probably due to the fact that he simply didn’t have anyone to complain to. Maua was hardy, and had weathered things his own father probably wouldn’t have been able to handle. He had taught himself to fight and sneak in and out of the grass. He had learned that the strict fighting drills and ordered practice moves meant nothing in a real battle. He had experienced the terror of being at the mercy of another’s fangs, and had felt the brutal thrill of holding another’s life at the mercy of his own.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 3:09 pm
Some things about him had stayed the same. He still thought of himself as worthless compared to his sister and brother, though by now it was likely he could take Purua on in a fight. He still hated being alone and trembled at half-heard noises in the dark. He still would rather run than fight, having learned the hard way that to fight could cost one the ability to hunt for two weeks. He still craved affection from his parents that he knew was now completely impossible to get. He still wished for someone, anyone, to wake him up from this nightmare and show him a life worth living.
The guilt of his sister’s death still plagued him. Though once where he would blame his sister for being too risky by playing on the slippery rocks, he now blamed himself. Instead of seeing himself reach for her paws at the edge of the bank, he now saw himself shoving her off of the rocks and laughing as she was swallowed by the rapids. His parents had been right. It had been his fault. No one would be able to trust him ever again. And so Maua kept to his life of solitude, desperate to find company but terrified of causing another death.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 3:11 pm
Maua crawled into the decaying trunk of a tree, large enough to fit his entire body if he curled up. The bottom of the den was covered in leaves and tufts of fur. The pink male supposed that at one point the den belonged to some sort of nesting mother. The bedding made an awful lot of noise as he tried to get himself comfortable, but it kept him dry and was better than sleeping on the cold dirt. At one point Maua had tried sleeping in trees as the jungle leopards did. The attempts often resulted in large bumps on his head and bruises on his body. Despite the sponginess of marsh earth, it was still painful to land on from tall heights.
Finally settled, Maua began pulling at the chewy meat of the snake. He missed the fatty taste of a gazelle fawn or the rich flavor of a freshly caught hare. Everything in the jungle was either chewy, covered in feathers, or tasted like mud. It was better than starving, but that didn’t mean Maua had to like it. He almost missed home. Maua often found himself feeling homesick while eating a meal. Nilua had always stolen his share of the food, and Purua had always graciously stolen it back for him.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 3:12 pm
His life contained nothing like that now. Like a robot, he had settled into a routine that could be performed without emotion or feeling. Maua kept himself fed and rested, as it required strength to travel. He hunted when he was hungry and slept when he was tired. When he was neither, he walked. All day and all night until his paws were sore, Maua traveled north. He avoided contact as much as he could, fooling himself into thinking that company would distract him from what his mission.
But he didn’t know what he was looking for. All he had was a freak occurrence after a near-death experience with a breeze. If the wind had blown south that day, Maua would be traveling south. If it had gone east, he would have walked east. It had been months since he had experienced his “sign from the gods,” and still he had found nothing. Maua was beginning to think it had been a divine prank rather than divine guidance. The only thing keeping him going was the fact that he had nothing else to live for. There was some small part of him, buried deep inside, that hoped he would one day find whatever it was he searched for. It was barely anything at all, but it was just enough.
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Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 3:13 pm
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Maua tracked the snake from his perch on the stump. It didn’t seem to see or smell him. At this point, Maua doubted if anyone could pick out his scent and distinguish it from the natural scents of the jungle. It had been months since he had given himself a bath. His mane had finally grown in, though only spots of pink could be seen beneath the dirt and mud. His white fur was now stained brown. Maua blended in with the dark jungle as well as the native species. He had learned much in his months here.