i.

She was born in the year after the great famine.

The famine lifted gradually, nearly imperceptibly. At first it was only visible in the sound of crickets filled the hot restless night air, then in the growing flocks of birds who perched on emaciated, shriveled branches. The rivers started flowing clear and clean, without any stench of decay or swollen, inedible carcasses swept up along their banks. Green shoots and buds began to emerge from thornbushes, and are consumed by twitchy rabbits, darting back to their burrows at the first hint of movement. Antelope appear - they are small and thin, and near impossible for a lion to catch when they bound away into the grass, but they are alive and proof that the land has begun to lift itself from its long slumber. It was a gala day when the first herds of wildebeest begin trekking back into the pridelands, and the rest of the prey animals followed shortly after.

Hollow-cheeked cubs suckled eagerly at their mothers, whose milk finally flows again after eating their fill for the first time in months. Nearby, the older cubs and adolescents tear at meaty carcasses, filling their bellies with flesh that isn’t decayed or scavenged. Xalvon’s trio still come back with nothing more often than they succeed in their hunt; but they range out often and travel hard, and it’s enough in the end. There will still be gnawing pains in bellies, but never again the dry ache that precludes all rational thought, never again the hollow eyes that speak of insanity and desperation. There might be dry spells for fits and starts as the bush fills again with prey, but never again will they go back to the times where that terrible ravine was necessary - filled with meat from not only zebras and giraffes, but hyenas and leopards and even lions, too old or weak to protest. The clouds of flies descending upon the sun-ripe meat and crawling into noses and eyes haunt every pride member, and many woke screaming with vultures circling in their dreams.

The months passed; the grasses were lush and green and the savannah was full of life. Now that the droughts were over and the herds moved back into the pridelands, there was more and more food for Xalvon’s herd to expand and recover from the crippling lack of prey the year before. Now there was time for play and idle conversation, when there was no threat of starvation hanging over their heads. Focus turns to… more frivolous matters. The nights are filled with whispers and giggles, and flesh sliding along flesh.

When a band of nomadic peddlers wander their way into Xalvon’s territory, bringing delicate bands of silver and rose gold, sweet treats and interestingly shaped toys, the herd is intrigued. There are meats that guarantee the number of cubs to grow in one’s womb; sickly sweet syrup encased in wax that makes you stronger and fleet-footed; exotic birds that chitter and perch on cocked tails and on shoulders. Chevaliar, a lion with a proud crest of fur like a male’s mane sprouting from her chest and head and a stumplike tail, eats a lump of chewy, musky tendons and when she births her litter months later, the newborns look like her. Tufts of fur on chest and face, and the same bobbed tail as their mother. The tendons sell out overnight, and some stray males begin to disappear from the areas around Xalvon’s territory. Nobody pays it any mind.

There were mixbreeds that showed up in Xalvon’s pride during this amorous time. They came and they went, and most were pallid and hollow-cheeked, sick and weak. One of the stronger ones called herself Avinci. Her stature was that of a lion, but her powerful legs were shorter than those normally found on one and her jaws spoke of leopard. She bore the spots that Xalvon hated above all else; but he recognized in her form that she could pass on her genes, and strengthen the blood of his pride. A friend of Xalvon’s showed him the ways that the meat the peddlers brought could be used, how to peel the bark off elusive yohimbe trees, how these items could be consumed to make cubs like the mixbreed. After countless trials and failures and tears of frustration, Avinci finally lay panting in the brood-nest, three soft mewling cubs next to her in the feathers and grass - but Xalvon had eyes for one only.

She was small and in his eyes, perfect. Her small paws and irregularly shaped eyes spoke to her heritage; he could see already that she would inherit her mother’s lithe form and sinuous strength. Her pelt was not dark golden like Avinci’s, but a soft, muted grey with sleek little speckles along her legs and back. She had her mother’s spots, the spots that he hated - but that could be easily fixed with a trip to the lush oasis, where lions changed colors and markings as a mink changes its pelt in the winter. Her small eyes opened, blindly searching the sky, and her little paws kneaded the air, twitching to some inner rhythm.

Later that night, when Avinci was taken away, back to her original pride now that her purpose was done, Xalvon padded to the nursery where the little leopon and her siblings were entrusted to the other broodmother’s care. He looked for her, but she was not where her sisters were, nestled into some nameless milkmaid’s side - a great roiling anger towards the lion he had entrusted to her care surging up within him. He walked back out, stopping at the entrance, astonished by the sight that met his eyes. There was the cub, in a clump of weeds and grass, only just visible in the dark night. Barely able to squirm and crawl to search for a mother’s warm teat, but there she was, making the peculiar paw-kneading motions again, watching fascinated as a small grey bird chirped and followed the motions of her limbs. All the fury that had been building up within Xalvon dissipated in an instant.

“Maestro,” he said, and smiled.

ii.


Maestro conducts.

She doesn’t actually conduct, of course. That’s not possible. She can’t control when the cricket chirps, or the pitches at which the birds sing, or when the winds pick up and rustles the grass; she can’t make the elephants stomp their massive feet or tell the river when and how to gurgle. She doesn’t control the music, and nature’s bright lovely sounds do not heed her when she sits back on her haunches and raises her paws to the sky.

But it’s an escape from the crowd and clamour of the den Xalvon keeps his herd in. There are too many bodies, pressed together in the closed space, too much fur and whiskers and sour moist breath and Apedemak above, the sounds are everywhere. Nobody there can seem to shut up. There’s gossip and scandals and talk of price inflation and fiscal responsibility, whatever that means, and once all possible dialogue is wrung out from a conversation the lions move onto another topic, each as inane as the last. She hates it, hates the simpering way that everybody tries to get into the good graces of the lions they deem important - hates that she's picked up on how to flatter and lie and talk babble for hours without saying a word. Maestro lies there for as long as she can stand it, and slips outside as soon as she is able. Xalvon does means well, she knows this, but she can’t help but resent the stifling heat of the den all the same.

She can’t conduct. But she leans into the wind and feels it brush over her fur the way as it brushes the dry tall grasses. She listens to the rustles and chirps from the bush, soft sighs and swishes from the skies, rumbles and burble of the stream and the way it all melds together into the most wonderful, wonderful melody, the song of freedom and the open plains.

And for Maestro, it’s enough.

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I

The famine had struck fast and hard, going unnoticed until it was too late. The absence of prey and predators alike made the air seem stale, dry like everything else in the Savannah. Charred trees and grass moved lazily with the wind, the silence was tense as it had been since the famine started. Nobody knew if they were going to survive, if they would find enough food or become easy pickings for the vultures.

Regulus' pride however was holed up deep inside their jungle, they were aggressive before the prey disappeared but now their maliciousness had reached new heights. Anything that moved within the jungle was quickly killed and eaten, this continued until the animals of the jungle had seemingly disappeared. When this happened the lionesses started to hunt farther into other's territories, taking any animal who could be used and completely disregarding the prides that depended on those animals to survive. They were not part of the pride and as far as they were concerned if they couldn't defend their lands then they deserved to die.

But even the prey in other pride's lands faded, the lionesses and cubs lost weight rapidly, many died and would have kept dying had Regulus not thought of something. Of course had any of the kinder kings discovered what Regulus was planning they would have tried to kill him on the spot, but other's opinions had no weight in Regulus mind. The only thing that mattered was taking care of his pride. Regulus plan was simple but effective, horrible and revolting but he knew the pride would support him.

The next time he went on patrol he searched for something in specific, lionesses. Rogue lionesses who belonged to no pride and were desperate to find one. He charmed them, promising a safe haven with enough food to feed an army, where they would be protected and cared for, and the only thing they had to do was follow Regulus back. It worked. Lionesses started coming to the pride thinking their prayers had been answered, but as soon as they entered the pride's meeting place they were attacked. The lions of the pride didn't even bother to kill them. No they were too hungry to care and their king had found a way to feed them, so feed they would!
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the famine lifted. Birds and insects started resurfacing, attracted to the green buds and fresh water that came back. Prey followed them not long after. Life was coming back to the Savannah, the pride stopped depending on rogue lionesses for food as the hunters started to go back to their usual rhythm.

And with this cubs started to be born once again. New blood had to enter the pride for they would need new hunters and patrollers. It was no long before Regulus contacted his allies again, they had secluded themselves during the famine, not up to sharing their hard earned meals and he knew his allies had done the same. Two peculiar lionesses joined the pride not long after.

One of them, the oldest was a gift. She was special for she had the blood of the ancestors running through her veins. This made her different, she had more fur than what was normal, her tail was short and her teeth were long and intimidating. She fit right in. The other one was just as special, she was a gift too, but she was specially bred to be part of his pride. She was the cross between a lion and a leopard, she was smaller than the other lionesses and her pelt had the same marking of leopards. As soon as the pride met her, they knew she belonged with them. She was theirs and no-one was going to take her away from them.


II.

She was hiding behind some bushes, the wolf that was assigned as her guard was beside her, as usual, trying not to laugh and give them away. This was all routine for Pandora, wake up, say hello to her king, pretend to be a good girl and play a prank on a pride-mate before they had breakfast. Then run and hide until... A shadow fell over her and her canine companion, turning around she smirked up at her King, who seemed quite amused. Hide until Regulus found her and took her away to teach her how to hunt, fight or whatever he wanted to do for the day.

Faint growls could be heard in the distance, all of them calling for her, and more than likely for her head. Her King ignored them and just gestured towards the one of the roads of the jungle they called home. Grinning, Pandora started walking to the clearing where they always trained, her wolf following a little behind Regulus.
Her eyes gained a familiar glint and her mouth formed a smirk that would have made all of the pride run away in horror when she heard a simple question from her King.
"Did you really have to use so much Hyena Butter?"

This was usual to Dora, routine. One that she loved but wouldn't mind to change. A routine she plans to change, she was preparing herself for leaving the pride. Not permanently but just to explore, find out what's outside their jungle. She didn't think anyone knew, but she realized in times like this, when Regulus made sure she knew each and every way to kill a lion that her King knew, and instead of trying to stop her made sure she knew everything she needed to survive. And she adored him even more for it.

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There’s blood and chaos and the sound of thunder, and Maestro can’t find the sky. The air smells foul - it’s not the heady musk of elephant dung or the sickly stink of carrion, but a nauseating, thoroughly unnatural, pervasive fume that makes her eyes sting and her head spin. Shouting - confusion - panic - she’s knocked from her feet, her legs crumpling from underneath her. Her face is pressed up against the ground, dry grass poking the tender inside of her nose. There’s dirt caught in her lashes, and when she blinks a pebble grinds into her eye. A loud crack like the heavens opening up during a sudden summer storm, and several popping sounds in quick succession. Bodies jostle up against her, paws tread over her, uncaring, as their owners frantically move away from the source of the sounds. Maestro is tossed about like a branch in a fast-flowing current, disoriented and dizzy. She turns her head to try and see which way is up, and gets whacked in the face for her troubles. It’s all she can to do just stay in a ball and wait for the mad rampage to be over.

Quickly, she rolls away as soon as there’s a break in the forest of legs. Choking on the dust that’s been kicked up, she scrambles away, glancing back at the panic behind her - a knot of lions, roiling and snarling. A few lions in the very middle of the clump aren’t moving. It’s like watching a heaving mound of termites - some lions are trying to scramble away from the comatose lions, and some are trying to edge closer, see what’s going on or what they can do to help.

Another crack. Another lion falls to the ground. The lions are rearing back now, fresh alarm rippling through the crowd. Maestro whips her head around - where did that sound come from? There - on the dirt ridge - some shiny beetle-like thing, sharp-seeming and the source of the unbearable smell. It’s a veeickle, a thing that carries humans. Maestro has seen these before. They drive up to the pride, sometimes, and humans hang out of them making clicking sounds and tossing meat at the herd. Why are they here? What are they doing?

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