Water ...

When was the last time she had had something to drink? Far longer than she had had something to eat, that was for sure. Her mouth was parched, her skin cracked, her fur patchy and falling out. Her bones jutted out from under her hide at nauseating ankles, so little flesh clinging to her that even the vultures would find her difficult to stomach. What was there for them to take? A few shrunken organs, a collection of frail bones, that was perhaps it.

She had fled her maternal pride many, many moons ago. A combination of disease and starvation, before a violent takeover that further thinned the ranks by slaughtering or chasing off adolescents from the latest litter, broke the Pride apart. She ran rather than force herself to entertain the incoming new Kings, terrified and not the sort to try and survive on her own. Lone lionesses didn't survive long, she was warned, you need a Pride to survive.

She was dying. She knew it. She had tried to scavenge from any kills or dead animals she could, even becoming violently sick after eating a vulture in desperation. Even dry twigs, but all that gave her was painful splinters and an even angrier stomach. The dry season now meant that water was also scarce, and she was dying even faster.

I can't ... Her legs quivered, before buckling entirely and causing her to collapse out in the open on the dry, sandy grass.