Ever since the pride had finished its migration to as far north as their territory reached, Khazine had been spending an inordinate amount of time at the spring their long-ago treaty had ceded to the Firekin. A good percentage of both prides' populations, Umkhombo himself included, hadn't even been born then, but he knew from the stories and lingering suspicion that it had been a tense affair. The proximity of the redpelts did remain a source of unease for some of the Abazingeli, particularly older ones who actually remembered the incidents, but time had moved on, and those old tensions really needed to be let go.

On that count, he was glad that Khazine, along with some of her cousins and other Qyrhyeshti who likely found the Motoujamii attractive for numerous reasons, was spending time here, but she was here more often than she was not. Her preoccupation with their northern, warlike, desert-dwelling neighbors was well-founded, but it bordered on obsessive. Had she been a color they found suitable, he had no doubt she would have considered joining them, although he also liked to think she would have been at least a little torn about it. It was irrelevant, however, as she was brown, and so he never needed to worry that she would go haring off into the desert. She would stay here, with her family.

He had thought that, after awhile, some of the shine would wear off, but it hadn't - months later and she was still trekking up here for duels. He allowed, though, because where she was concerned, he was indulgent and always had been. She was, as he had named her, his treasure. The very last piece of her mother in this world. And if dueling redpelts made her happy, that was fine by him.

But the seasons were beginning to change, and it was a foregone conclusion that the herds they hunted from would soon be moving on. When that happened, so would the pride, and they would be away from this portion of their territory for months, much too far for Khazine to visit her preferred dueling partners (perhaps they were even friends - he suspected so, after this much time and so many sparring matches). What would she do then? Take it out on her cousins and Sabit's brood, more than likely, until that got boring. And if - when - she got bored, he suspected acting out would follow close behind. Gods knew how, exactly, but he didn't doubt that she would find away, and probably a cousin to rope into it with her. Just what he needed.

Not that Khazine was why he was here, she was actually where she was 'supposed' to be, out hunting. He was here because it was along his patrol route today, and he was thirsty. It was simply a matter of convenience. He did note, on his approach to the spring, the presence of a red-striped lioness, who looked to be relaxing in the shade, but she was far enough away to not merit more than a polite nod of acknowledgement that she might or might not even see from where she was. He then dipped his head to lap at the water, and once he had quenched his thirst, turned to be on his way.

"You must be Khazine's father," came a voice from behind him - the lioness had roused herself and approached, greeting him from several feet away while she continued to step toward him until she'd reached a more conversationally suitable proximity.

"Oh? What gave you that idea?" he responded with amiably blunted sarcasm.

"Ha," she 'laughed,' flopping back down into a lazy stretch. "Small as she is, you're bigger than I thought you'd be. But then again, you did toss Andhaka out, so I guess I shouldn't be that surprised."

"There was more at play there than a size difference," the Umholi clarified after a moment's pause for thought. "Judging by the stripes and the interest in Andhaka, then, you must be one of his."

"You've got me," she remarked with a smirk. Now they'd both observed and stated the obvious. "Don't worry, though. I'm not out for vengeance."

"Even if you were, what makes you think I'd be concerned?" She seemed to have a good humor about her, and a bit of banter felt natural enough. More than most of his interactions with the Abazingeli.

"What, you think I couldn't take you? Bet I could run your harem just as well as you do - no, better."

"Maybe so," he said with a shrug, "But you might find some of the duties more challenging than others. And it's not a harem, either - that's a common enough misconception for outsiders to have, but it's not the case."

"Isn't it? Enlighten me, then - how is a pride made up mostly of females and run by just a few males not a harem?" Under the irreverence in her tone lay an honest curiosity - this was half her heritage, after all.

"Not only do the lionesses not belong to us - and they'd be rather offended by your suggesting such a thing - if anything, it's almost a reversal of roles. It's our duty to provide services to the females, when requested. We protect the pride from outside threats, provide cubs when it's asked of us, and in return, we're first to feed."

"Oh, so 'providing cubs' doesn't qualify as a perk?" she asked incredulously.

"For aome, maybe." He shrugged.

"But not for you?"

Another shrug, and stubborn silence. She wasn't getting a verbal answer for that question.

"Well, all the same," Turiya decided, "Providing cubs aside, I could totally do all of that."

Umkhombo laughed, although privately he was relieved by the slight shift in topic. "Is that a challenge, or do you just like to talk?"

Now that was more like it! "If it were, would you accept it?"

"I don't see why not," he said with another shrug, "Although if you do win, good luck holding onto it - a redpelt lioness as Umholi won't sit very well with the Abazingeli, even the more progressive ones." The truth was, though, that he knew full well he would win; she was good, he knew, good enough that she and Khazine drew more often than anything else, but good enough to beat him? He was an Umholi in his prime, amd before that had been a warlord - even a war dog. He'd have to be coming into the fight already injured for her to have even half a chance. But she had spirit, and he liked that, so he'd humor her for awhile.

"Claws out, then, redpelt," he said with a grin. "When we fight in the south, we fight for keeps. And we bleed for it."