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ʟᴏʀᴇ
From her first breath in the waking world, she was a mistake.
"...𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵..."
"...𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘵...𝘬𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯.... 𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺."
"𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘦...𝘭𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵... 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦."
Of course, she didn't know this yet. Which was fine. She mewled weakly, immediately squirming and pawing at her mother beside her brothers and sisters, a tiny cub spurred only by the instinct to survive.
Her first few years were spent training within her pride, racing alongside the other cubs, quiet determination lurking behind olive eyes. She tagged onto hunts, scaled trees, swam across the freshwater lake in the summertime, and snuck into her father's council meetings to eavesdrop on their adult conversations - the ones with lots of big words. She grew up with her pridemates and siblings, who were kind, inviting her on adventures, sharing their kills, grooming one another every sunset.
They all looked out for one another - that was just how they worked. The older, wizened lions approached them with words of praise and teases, and the broodmothers cooed over their closeness, fondly recalling old memories. One adolescent was rarely seen alone, and their unspoken rule quicky became 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥.
...Except for that one time when rabies swept like wildfire across the pride's territory and left everybody picking at the unspoilt rodents and berries, starving and at the mercy of the relentless heat, and she was avoided like the plague.
Except for when the elders glumly muttered and grumbled over the misfortune that month, the witch-stripes of "that little mut" scaring away all the good spirits.
Except for when her sweet little sister, - who could never hurt a fly - on death's door, jerked away from her as if burnt, pupils dilated under unfocused lenses.
𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, her mother called them. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘖𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘴.
𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸?, she thought that night, watching the shadows track across the wall, drifting into an uneasy sleep where they return as night ghouls and screeching undead.
When the rabies onslaught left their territory and Autumn unfurled her fiery wings, she was accepted back into the pride. Invites to hunt, whisperings of the latest gossip and daily groomings resumed as if nothing had happened. With the way every lion had begun treating her like a lion once more, this might as well have been the case. A blip in years' worth of fond experiences, a slip of the tongue amid a cacophony of sound. And her memory was the only evidence to disprove it.
So entangled in her own thoughts, she gradually drifted away from the rest of the pride. They didn't seem to notice. Or care. She didn't bother wasting any effort on trying to distinguish the two. Every attempt to talk was met with a blank stare or a dismissive flick of a tail. She embraced her mutation, spent extra time grooming the dark fissures, ignoring the disapproving glares of the elders.
A new season rolled around. Spring. Native flora bloomed in every colour of the rainbow, the forests and fields alike flourished with prey, and, within the pride, new life was born. A new generation, a cohort of eager cubs, all depended upon with the future of the pride. Lessons were taught. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳, broodmothers murmured to them, large eyes turning to watch her as she stalked by. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯!
Busied with the new trainees and a rapidly expanding pride, she was forgotten. After all, her father had a whole new line of heirs to worry about, and her mother was teaching the quieter, calmer cubs the art of healing. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, she concluded, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥.
Whether she was right, she'll never know. She slipped away in the darkness of the night.
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Patches (fissure), 3m"
Patches (fissure), 3m"
