Blame of the Corpse

"Blame of the corpse, step forward and stand before your elders." The kings voice boomed across camp, carrying to the gathered lions. In the centre, sat a small cub, her clear hazel eyes round and glistening with worry. The cubs mother gently prompted her forward with a paw, giving her an encouraging nod. Timidly, the cub made her way towards the king, her father. "Sit." he commanded, and Blame did so. She was young, but already she had been taught the way of the pride, and to never disobey Zuora. Another lion appeared from the shade of the flower rock, of which the elder council lay, their bodies stretched out to catch the sun on their thick pelts. The new lion drew something from the darkness with his claw. A glorious looking crown, decorated with feathers of ravens and crows and twigs, the remains of a fire that had ripped through the fire just days ago. Zuora took the crown from the other lion, who retreated into the shadows with a grateful nod. "Blame of the corpse, you have reached the age of 4 months, I think it is time you receive your official title. As my kin, you have been voted the princess of our pride." Blame stared up at her father, all previous nerves gone. She felt nothing but awe. Her father bent down and gently placed the scratchy crown upon her head, it fit as well as a lion fits its mane. The rest of the pride began to roar their approval, and Zuora joined in, throwing back his head and calling out to their ancestors for their words. After a mere moment, the heavens opened and rain poured from the now dark grey sky, drenching the gathered lions in water.