It was a quiet night. A peaceful night. All in all, it was like most nights. Life in the Pridelands was, if nothing else, consistent. Some might have called it boring, but that was being unfair. For a pride so old and so large, it was rather remarkable that life here was as predictable as it was. It hadn't always been this way, she knew, there had been incidents in the past, some more recent than others, but still all before she had been born. Given some of the stories she'd heard about other prides, the history of the Pridelands actually seemed relatively tame.
History notwithstanding, she was quite fond of the peaceful, 'boring' pride and its laidback way of life. Of course, she'd never actually been anywhere else to experience any other culture firsthand, but most of the others she'd heard of didn't sound the least bit appealing.
Even her own mother's disbanded birth pride, the Kunanda'Nakhun, had never sounded like somewhere she would want to have grown up. It seemed silly, organizing a society based on something like the color of one's coat. Ataullah would have held a high rank, true, just as her mother had, but she still didn't like the sound of it. It was random and just plain unfair! Nevermind the way they had treated the males, that was just as silly, in her opinion.
Not that her opinion, or any of her other internal musings tonight, really mattered at all. She was just letting her mind wander while she looked up at the stars, enjoying doing nothing at all before she turned in for the night.
'Nothing at all' was destined to be short lived, however, as a stranger was approaching, a shadowy figure who blended in with the shadows. She didn't notice him at first, adrift in her own thoughts and her sights on the stars, but as he drew closer, she could hear the rustling of the grass. Curious, but expecting it to be nothing more than some creature or another, or maybe a scout returning from duty, she turned her gaze downward and looked for the source of the noise.
The source of the noise turned out to be another lion, dark-pelted and larger than most. She didn't recognize him, but that wasn't surprising. As large and prosperous a pride as the Pridelands was, it was impossible to know everyone, or even half of everyone. Some families were more prominent (or populous, as it were) than others, and members could be picked out based on some common trait, but there were always exceptions, and the odd throwback here and there.
There was no shortage of lions with dark coats, and this one was distinctive only because he had no markings at all. Whether or not he was a member of the pride, new or old, or a relative or a visitor, she had absolutely no idea. It was impossible to tell just from his appearance. Curiosity piqued, she offered a soft-voiced, polite, "A lovely evening, don't you think?"
The lion, whom she wasn't sure had noticed her before she spoke or not, altered his course to approach, and she noticed when he drew closer that his eyes were black as well. It was very striking, and that trait was slightly familiar. Black lions with black eyes, she had seen, though they appeared in several different families. Whether or not they were related somehow or it was simple coincidence, she did not know.
"It is a lovely evening indeed," the figure answered, his voice deep and smooth and pleasing to hear. "And lovelier still when in the company of another." He paused and looked up at the sky, where her gaze had been fixed before he had drawn it. "Do you have a favorite?"
"A favorite star?" Ataullah considered the question and lifted her gaze to the sky once again, surveying the countless array of stars visible in the clear night sky. "I'd never thought to choose one, to be honest. They're all beautiful. It doesn't seem right to pick just one star, and say that it is better or more beautiful. And if it were the only star, it wouldn't be as beautiful. Don't you think? Or do you have a favorite?"
"A good answer." It was difficult to make out expressions on the dark lion in the dark night, but she could hear a smile in his voice. "A very good answer. I don't have a favorite, either. Why shouldn't we enjoy them all?" He could have said something very similar about something other than stars, but he would not. Not to this lovely lioness, anyway.
"They say that the old rulers are all up there. Do you think it's true, or is it just another story?" So much of life was just stories, not just about the stars, but about everything. All of it was little more than stories, to a young lioness who had seen very little for herself, who knew very little for herself. It was all what she had been told, and what she thoguht about what she'd been told.
"I suppose it could be true," her stranger answered. "No one knows for sure what happens to a mortal soul when they die, so one guess is as good as another. Turning into a star sounds better than some of the stories I've heard." He had died, once, but he'd never seen the other side of the gates of heaven. Instead, he'd been chosen to take the place of a weary god. He wondered sometimes what really was on the other side, but in all honesty had no desire to find out for himself. He was busy here, happy here, doing what he'd always done, and had no intentions of stopping anytime soon. Maybe not ever.
"What other stories have you heard?" she asked, intrigued. "Would you mind sharing them with me?"
"Not at all. I've heard many, many stories, but I do have a few favorites. Let's see, I can start with..."
