Ivie’lingwa stirred in her sleep.
It was an odd experience, being pregnant, the little live inside of her, brushing against the inside of her womb, bringing about strange, beautiful and terrible visions.
She had been in denial about this pregnancy. Been in denial about its existence. She never wanted children again. Never thought she’d have to go through the pain of birthing, the stress of feeding and tending and then the agony as, one by one, they all left her – and not because they were just growing up to fly the nest but because they couldn’t bear to be at their mother’s side. The mad whore.
She gave a low moan in her sleep and shifted on her side a little to ease the tension from the slight swell of her belly. She would never admit it to anyone but the day her children had left her in disgust had been even worse than losing Fedha. Yes, this girl was doomed. Doomed to spend a life being rejected by everyone she loved and to make it worse, it was of her own doing!! If she could stop the mad impulses, try and gain control of her visions, then maybe she could make a better life for herself.
And yet, she could not. Her seer powers scared her and she tried to push them away, thinking them a curse, rather than embrace them as a gift. And this fear only seemed to make them worse. This fear of touching unless for pleasure – which seemed to bring only good visions – or better yet, no visions at all! The fear of being regarded as a freak. And that was what she thought herself as. A freak of nature. An unnatural being.
Her dreams brought to her visions of darkness, warmth, confinement. Creatures were around her, wriggling, moving. Crying. Screaming. Leaving.
She dragged breath into her lungs as she stirred into wakefulness, shivering, ears pinned back, eyes wild and blood shot. The vision of pale-faced cubs huddled around a large, pale-faced male – their father – haunted her. She had found comfort in that odd face before. But now it brought a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Not because she thought he would hurt her. But because she knew…she knew he wanted the children with him. She shook her head to scatter the image, but it hung like a shadow in the back of her mind, tickling at her senses when she let her guard down.
Thirsty, she stood and moved away from her den, across the short stretch of land to the water. There she slaked her thirst, drinking greedily and, when she paused for breath, felt the chill in her stomach ease her worries. After that, she slipped into the trees, intent on landing a good catch to feed the pride. Ever since the talk with the queen she had felt the need to try and get past her doubts and fears and at least attempt to provide for the ones who lived here. It was her job and her debt to them for allowing her to stay.
The land opened up into the hunting grounds and Ivie, licking her lips, hunkered down among the grasses. Casting long shadows, the antelope grazed, necks down, horns arching dangerously up into the sky. She watched them warily and, after many minutes, crept closer until they were only ten strides away. Her odd green pelt – gifted to her by her mother – helped her blend better than some of the more elaborately decorated lions in the area. It gave her the advantage that she needed when so pitted up against disadvantages. The cubs in her belly stirred and she froze, waiting for a vision that never came. A few long moments later she relaxed again, pressing onwards very, very slowly. Her movements became like that of a clockwork toy – exaggeratingly slow. Her eyes fixed on one of the prey beasts. The one closest to her, its back turned, its greedy head pressed to the grass. Ivie’s hindquarters shifted as her back paws found good purchase in the soil. Strong hind legs tightened, ready to uncoil and launch herself at the distracted creature. She licked her lips again, set her paws deep, readied her claws and, with a roar rumbling from her throat, leapt.
She exploded from the grass, fluffy white pollen swirling about her, giving the act of killing to survive an almost tranquil, beautiful light. Her body collided with her chosen victim. Claws slid through fur and flesh, drawing jagged red lines across side and flank. The antelope threw up its head and bleated for help but its herd were already making for cover, trampling grass beneath strong hooves, dust clouding the air.
Ivie had no eyes for the retreating herd. She would not fail again. The scent of blood was hot and thick in her nostrils. The bloodlust was upon her and she pulled the creature to the ground. A vision flashed but Ivie, surprisingly, blotted it out. No, not this time!! She would be damned if she lost another. She would not fail! And as she repeated those words in her head, her jaws found the vulnerable neck, the vein throbbing madly beneath that dusty pelt. Teeth sank deep. She shook her head violently, felt the crunch of bone beneath her jaws and then after a moment of waiting, the thrashing ceased and the antelope lay dead at her paws.
Adrenaline ran through her. Thrilled her. Trembling, she licked the blood from her maw and, throwing back her head, she gave an almighty roar. Now hungry pride members would come to feast and it was thanks to her. Ivie’lingwa. Perhaps sensing the excitement of such an achievement, the cubs stirred again, performing their little dances and flips in her womb. Hopefully no one would yet realise her condition – but even if they didn’t just yet, it would only be a matter of time before they did.
