1. You find a mostly consumed zebra foal. It is little more than a snack.
Night had always been special to Mokosh. As a cub, she remembered gazing up at the valley's high walls and deep shadows, marveling at the way that distant moonlight washed the cliffs in verdant greens and inky blues. Every night before bed, she would gaze at the soaring peaks and nestle into the warmth of her mother's side. Surrounding her, fresh in her memory, were the quiet murmurs of family doing the same beneath the stars.
Growing up in that kind of comfort left a mark on the lioness. To this day, the shapes of mountains on the horizon inspired feelings of awe and a deeply-rooted contentment in Mokosh. She reasoned the sight had been all that kept her together some nights, though those welcome emotions now mingled with bitter longing and nagging grief. Those had become ingrained, too - lodged in her heart ever since their valley ran dry, her family fled, and the mountain abandoned them.
Mo stepped down from the cluster of rock she'd been using as a vantage point. Her thoughts wandered much as she did, picking her way across the dirt and scrub, but she was keen to keep an eye out for the pale stripes of what would hopefully become breakfast for her pride. She couldn't express how dearly she wanted to bring them good news. Without that pride, she would still be buried in the sting of the valley's memories...more than she already was, anyway. Startling to think that once, this had felt worse. The bitterness proved harder to swallow than anything she'd ever felt before, but finding the Ithambo'hlabathi had made it a little more manageable. Their welcome offered a sense of belonging, a balm that relieved some of the ache for nights past. The comfort of her pride-sisters soothed the grief for those now lost to her. Their banter, their togetherness, even their stern words stood fresh in her mind beside those she would never hear again. Though pain was still present, alongside her sisters it had turned into more of a slow grumble than the fierce roar it once was.
Brows drawing low, the dusty lioness stopped in her tracks. There, a flash of white in the brush - but it was tinged and dirty, half-covered in earth. Mokosh wasn't even fully upon it before her muzzle turned up in disdain, having already spotted the dark splatter of blood and the jagged shape of bone. Was it one of her own, desperate enough to catch and hunt a foal? She sniffed at the babe's body, but couldn't discern the scent. This zebra wouldn't feed the pride, not even if she'd been lucky enough to find it alive. Might line her stomach, but nothing more. She sighed, disappointment welling up from deep in her belly.
She had never considered it before...but the lack of herds had doomed her home in the valley, too. Led to the drought and famine that caused them to disperse and die . Was there a reason that her new pride was looking into the empty, hungry stare of the same problem to befall her first? Was it just a coincidence that she was suffering through this shortage for the second time?
...Or was this her penance?
Back in the valley, she had been too young to realise the price that her family had to pay. Little cub Mo hadn't understood the cost of watching food dwindle, or the way despair and fear spread as tensions mounted high. Now she was living it, but could be of no more help than she'd been as a cub. So what was left to her? What would she do? Watch another pride dissemble to the winds? Sit front and center as its history, its culture, everything she had come to love crumbled into dust? Again?
Mokosh grit her teeth. The shake of her head started slow, but grew faster, more vehement, until pinpricks of pain accompanied her ears rattling against her skull. Small, pained noises came from somewhere nearby, and it took her too long to realise that they came from her own throat. As soon as she did, the panic took hold. The struggle to control her heaving sides was unexpected; she was fighting to keep from losing it, and she was failing.
So she stopped fighting. Instead - craning her head upward with significant effort, dropping her butt in the dirt with significantly less - she opened glassy eyes to the sky. Her jaw unclenched, distressed cries coming freely as she stared out at the mountains in the distance. Memories of the mountain's embrace washed over her. She let them come, savoring the comfort of cubhood nights, counting the precious spots of light in the dark above.
By the time her thoughts had quieted, the silver lioness lie on the ground. Her eyes slowly fell from the stars, dried and dark. Mo would allow herself to stay here a few moments more - long enough to leave the shame at her weakness here, far from the pride. Reflection was one thing, but this... This panic, this despair? That was farther than she usually let herself go. Self-pity wouldn't get her anywhere!
Maybe she did need to atone for her past.
Maybe she was putting way too much blame on a cub barely grown into her paws.
Either way, it didn't matter. Mokosh pulled herself to her paws with a shake. What did matter was that she was here now. She knew what could happen if they didn't take their dwindling food source seriously. They were taking the first steps toward making their situation better. That was more than the valley had done, and that would have to be enough.
What had once been would never stop hurting. That pain would never go away - that cruel little voice behind her ears would always whisper little reminders that all of it was gone. But it wasn't, not quite: she still had the night. Beauty of the now and nostalgia of the past to ease her ails, and push her onward. Thankfully - even though it was no mountain - night on the savanna was nothing short of beautiful.
Word Count: 1,021