- A hyena loped through the badlands.
Once, many years ago, she would have worried. She would have tucked her tail and tried her hardest to sniff out a way to freedom. Once, this empty, vast landscape would worry her. Once upon a time, Mwanjaa had starved in a place much like. But now the young female was rotund and healthy, glowing in the eye, hearty in the chest, plump in fetlock. She was, as a matter of fact, a pudgy hyena. One may even call her fat. Growing up where food was scarce could make one overeat later in life.
Mwanjaa had learned how to find food in even the toughest landscapes, and when she found it, she would gorge herself: flesh, organs, bone, skin and all. Her appetite became unquenchable and she learned to stomach anything. Whatever dead thing was set before her was devoured in its entirety. And she did not share.
----
A young hyena, bright in color and splashed with white, romped her way up to an older male. They were both thin, skinny to the bone. Normally proud, strong beasts, they’d been turned into weak, skeletal caricatures of what they’d once been by malnourishment and famine.
“Uncle Babuu,” the little female whined,” I’m hungry.”
“We all are,” replied the older hyena. His tone was gruff, but there was a softness in his bright eyes. He frowned, and after a moment’s pause rose shakily to his feet and loped off. He stopped, cast the little one a look over his shoulder, and barked,” Are you coming?”
The pup barked and hurried after her uncle’s heels.
The pair made their way along the barren path, nothing but cracked, dry dirt to guide them. Finally they came to a small outcrop of rocks piled up unnaturally against the dead husk of a tree. Babuu stopped and pressed a paw to the little one’s chest, forcing her to come to a halt as well.
“Wait here.” Babuu’s ears perked, listening, carefully. He lifted his broad nose and scented the air. The little one watched with wide, curious eyes, rolling back onto her rump. The male inched forward, his head low and ears on alert. He darted quickly to the rock pile and crunched one in his jaws, tossing it to the ground. He scurried into the hole he made, shoulders and chest disappearing from sight completely.
The little one smelled it long before she saw… meat! Something red and delicious. Dry, but she could already taste its warm-wetness in her mouth. She salivated opening, slurping at her lips. Her tail wagged of its own accord and she strained forward, impatient.
Babuu appeared with a decayed chunk of cheetah in his mouth. It was a leg, bony without much meat, and maggots visibly wriggled in the flesh, eating what little of it there was. Babuu trotted up to the little one and tossed the rotting meat at her feet.
“Here,” was all he said.
Mwanjaa did not hesitate. She let out a yip and rushed forward, ripping a piece of old flesh off the bone.
And immediately spitting it out directly afterwards.
“It’s horrible!” she cried.
Babuu snapped his jaws and snarled,” It’s food! Eat it!”
Mwanjaa whined and pushed the thing away from her,” I won’t, it’s gross!”
“Then starve!” Babuu turned on heel and trotted away. His pace was slow, at first, but he started to canter, then took off at a full run. Mwanjaa watched him for some time. It was easy to spot a running creature out here – everything was flat and dead and dry. There were no antelope or hares. No lions or cheetahs, apart from this dead one at her feet. There was only her pack, what few of them were left. Her father had died some time ago, walked off into the sunset and withered away. And then her aunt and all her sisters
It was only Mwanjaa, her mother, and Babuu left. And her mother had gone looking for food two suns ago, and not yet returned.
And Mwanjaa was hungry. She wanted her mother to come back with fresh meat.
She didn’t want to eat this… this thing. This horrible dry dead thing her uncle had given her. Mwanjaa padded toward the pile of rocks. Perhaps there was more in it. Something better to eat. She sniffed, but couldn’t find tell of anything. But her nose was no match for her uncle’s, and he may have covered up the scent with something. She’d seen her father piddle on a carcass before, to keep some lions away.
Mwanjaa nodded to herself, decision made. She’d climb the rocks. She hurried forward and leapt up onto the piles, claws gripping at the stone. It was much higher than her head, and the terrain was slippery and unsteady. But she climbed, paw by paw, inch by inch, her muscles straining to keep herself upright. A rock tumbled as she placed her foot. She slipped, yelping. She scrambled for purchase and manage to sink her teeth into a low hanging branch of the dead tree. With a grunt and groan she pulled herself up, and set back to climbing the stones.
Finally she reached the top and peered into the deep, black hole.
“Nothing!”
But she’d worked so hard to reach it. How could there be nothing? Nothing at all squirreled away for her to eat? Why only that desiccated, dry carcass? Mwanjaa wrinkled her nose and leapt down from the pile of rocks. She slipped and tumbled hard to the earth, scraping her leg. She whimpered and picked herself up, eyeing her scratch with trepidation. Tears of pain brimmed in her burnt orange eyes.
“Oww.” She gave the scuff a tentative lick, and then hunkered down next to the piece of meat.
Now she was hurt and hungry.
Her stomach grumbled, then cramped. Mwanjaa cried out. She curled around herself, shivering through the pain. Everything hurt. She was too cold and too hot all at once, and her mouth was dry, her stomach eating itself. Se needed… she needed… Mwanjaa lifted her head and eyed the piece of rotten meat.
She wet her lips.
----
Eating. Stealing. Gluttony. Sloth. That was how one survived out here in the badlands. The only way one could keep from starving. Mwanjaa knew this. She learned her lesson well. She was fat now, and glossy with health.
A vulture cried out above her head. Mwanjaa glanced up and followed its trail east with her eyes.
Another day, another meal.
She hurried onward.
