It was two days before he came across the half-eaten carcass of a zebra, his charge sending three vultures and a dozen crows screaming into the sky. He ate with the savageness of a lion who had not eaten for days until the ache in his belly had rescinded, leaving him feeling near enough whole once more. He wasn't sure why but, afterwards, when he was done, he kept glancing over his shoulder to see if his ghost still followed.

He had not seen her since morning and, deep down, he began to suspect that she had collapsed from starvation. Stupid female, refusing to leave her home until it was too late. Putting her trust into the one lion she should not.

Tomorbaatar hung around the carcass for as long as he dared but, after an hour or so, the vultures moved in again and he retreated back into the scrub land that would mask him from any other predator come lurking for a free lunch. And yet, though he knew he should move on, he found his paws falling still, casting another long look over his shoulder. From here he could no longer see the carcass but in his mind's eye he could see his pale ghost lingering, too afraid to approach the free meal in case it was a trap.

No, he told himself, she's dead. It happens. There's nothing you could have done.

He turned to move on but his paws had taken root and that night he slept there amongst the undergrowth, stirring every now and then to the sounds of the night and nothing more. He fell into another restless sleep, full of strangling dreams that had him waking with a gasped breath. Then, when the sun was cresting the horizon, he gave up on sleep and decided that the dawn hours would be a good time to continue on his way.

Cursing himself for a fool, he circled back around to where the carcass had lain. Unsurprisingly little of it remained and, from the scent, it appeared much of it had been dragged away by some other carnivore during the night. Hyena, he thought. If it was, not even the bones would remain now. He stood looking at the remnants of his meal and tried to reason with himself that this was just the way of things--

--right up until he saw her staggering from cover and collapsing to the ground below.

"You're still alive," he said as he stood over her.

"Please," she whispered, "do this thing. End it."

He stared at her wordlessly for a long time and when she looked up to plead with him with those eyes he shook his head and took a step back.

"Please..."

"You're serious?"

"It would be a kindness."

"For you, maybe. But not for me."

He was certain she would have growled at him if she'd had the energy. Instead she simply let her eyes roll closed as if doing so would be enough to end her miserable life. After a long moment he turned and walked away and the long, desperate cry that followed after him was a sound that he had heard before. A sound that chilled him to the bone. He fought the urge to return to her, making his way across to the last scraps that remained of the carcass. There was very little sustenance left but...perhaps it would be enough for her to get by on. He lifted a piece and carried it across to her, setting it down by her muzzle before taking a step back to give her room.

She looked up at him as if he were a saviour and he wanted to attack her and tell her he was anything but. A bitter taste rose up in his mouth and, with a low growl, he turned and left. Her life was in her own hands now. If she wanted to survive she'd have to use all that she had to do so.

-----

Grey clouds were rolling in from the north, shielding the sun and bringing a cold wind that had him seeking lower ground. The gorge he had found himself in was shallow enough to not give him too much trouble but gave just enough shelter that he could keep out of the worst of the chill. Peering upwards he wondered if the clouds were bringing rain and, if they were, whether it would fall and gather close enough to be of use. He'd noticed some herds moving into the area. Their instincts about such things were far keener than his own and always had been. He'd learnt that long ago during one of his first scouting trips. If they were here there was a good chance that a dry basin was about to fill and draw life from all around. It would be a fortunate place to find himself. Water and food aplenty. So much so that even a poor hunter such as himself ought to be able to grab himself an easy meal.

In the quiet stillness that followed the fall of rain, the steel-blue lion sat and glanced skyward, listening for the pitter-patter of raindrops against the dry earth. It was a rare and beautiful music. What he heard, however, was not that. What he heard was far sweeter.

It was the slow tread of another and he knew, even before seeing her, who it was. He knew the step of those weary paws. Knew the laboured breathing. Knew the hesitation before each weary paw was set down.

His ghost.

She crested the gorge just above him and their eyes met. Her face was haggard, her fur dull and there was no shine in her eyes at all. And yet, despite all odds, she had made it all this way. She was alive.

She stared at him as if she believed she, too, was seeing a ghost. And then, with a slow exhale her expression relaxed.

"Kveres," he whispered.

He knew he should not have cared. Knew he should not have encouraged her to follow him. But at that moment he did not care.

/fin