[FIN] Grumping Around (Ndale & Mittere)

[mouselet]

Gods above, Mittere was glad to be out of the den. It was a type of relief that had become all too familiar in the months since she had first awakened in the Kitwana'antara. Which, the pink lioness mused, was actually the opposite of how things were in every other pride she'd seen or heard about. In those places, the den was a lion's private place, where others could enter only with permission. Here, the Healers had to be able to enter any den at any time for the sake of the lion within, whether the lion in question knew it or not.

It had been such a relief when the pink lioness had been pronounced fit enough to choose her own den and live independently once more.

Then had come Tarafa and, hard on her mate's heels, the cubs. Which made the den they shared a prison filled with every sort of hyperactive noise imaginable.

With all that going on, it was no wonder Mittere was so relieved to simply be wandering through the pridelands alone.  

[Uta]

The large lion had been relieved of his duty near the border, but he found no relief or relaxation in such knowledge. Picking his way through the quiet grasslands, he didn't have any desire to return to the heart of the pride. The gold and brown eyed lion was irritated, but that didn't mean anything when it came to Ndale. The pale coated lion had been born mad, or so he'd heard his sister say once. While she had been teasing him, there was truth to her words, and it was something he wouldn't object.

Granted, there was much the lion could be angry about. The rejection of his mother, the abandonment of his sister, to be taken in by a plagued pride and then be the only one out of his family to catch the disease. He was young yet, defensive, and uptight. While he knew there were fates worse than his lot in life, and he did his best to keep his regrets and angst in check around other faces, right now nothing seemed to be going right.

Pacing back and forth, the lion took a few swipes here and there at some invisible opponent. He snarled, snapped, his fur bristling, before he finally took a pounce and attacked. There was no real opponent to spar with, but it was a decent way to blow off some steam. Haruma had been fraternizing with some boy. . . hmph. As if anyone in this pride was good enough for his sister. While deep down he wanted her to find happiness and joy. . . at the same token, he didn't want to lose the only family he had remaining.

So he was a selfish creature. One had to be to survive in the rorguelands. It was something he'd never forgotten, even when surrounded by pride.
 

[mouselet]

Mittere paused, standing still as a snarl rent the air. Blue eyes narrowed as she scanned the horizon for danger. It seemed safe enough, but she hadn't survived this long by trusting seemings. The pink lioness crept towards where she'd heard the noise, alert to anything and everything she passed.

She crested a low rise and saw a young lion, fighting an invisible opponent. The pink lioness relaxed her guard upon recognizing him as a younger member of the pride. She thought he might've been at several of the lessons she'd given. What was his name? Nfune? Nkona? Ah, Ndale, that was it.

It was a shame, the pink lioness supposed, that she couldn't really see the boy's opponent. He wasn't bad, all things considered, but there was definitely room for improvement in his technique. From his movements, she didn't really think he was practicing. In fact, he reminded Mittere of a much younger pink lioness working off her frustration. He just wasn't going about it in a very effective way.

The Warrior settled herself on a warm outcropping to watch the one-sided match with apparent interest and enjoyment.  

[Uta]

Often, Ndale did what he could to keep himself in shape and attempt to hone his skills. While he was large for a lion, he did surprisingly well at keeping himself on his toes. Slowness was his weakness, so he strived to keep himself in constant motion, moving with the attacks of his 'enemies'.

Granted, at this point, his enemy could do anything as it was invisible, but Ndale was wise enough to keep his imagination fair. A good way to win a battle was to know what your opponent was going to do and prepare for it. . . Or at least be aware. One never was to look them in the eye, but to look at their whole body while in battle; that way you could see their full movements and defend against them. In this case, the creature he was battling to blow off his aggravation was large . . and mean.

The battle progressed. It was almost a dance, in a violent, and bitey sort of way. But it was something Ndale loved to do, and something he regretted to this day. He had been denied the position of warrior early on, due to his fragile health. Granted, Mittere was a great warrior, but she had learned the skills long before she had been taken with disease. Ndale had always been sickly early on, and for awhile, hadn't been expected to make it to ******** that.

He had absolutely no intention of dying. He wouldn't abandon his family, no way. Even if he was struck with some wretched plague. Strangely enough, he had outlived some of his younger siblings, most recently Ruko . . . While Ndale had never been particularly close to Sliabh or Eva'raja, he still secretly looked on at their ever-growing-family with love and affection. It wasn't something he readily showed or admitted, but Ruko's loss had been felt.

So he fought. Life had granted him many blessings, but nothing had turned out how he'd desired. . . . Liraz had grown distant, his one friend and cubhood crush had rejected him; Haruma was busy, Faraa in her own world. He couldn't be a warrior due to his fragile health, and he was trapped in a pride he wasn't content to live in. Acceptance wasn't a strong suit of the male, impatience was his flaw. . . .

And while he might have noticed Mittere in time, mid-swing, his body began to object. He could feel the cough tickle his throat, his lungs suddenly heaving with a need for air. The phlegm of his congested state choked him. He hesitated, just a moment, attempting to fight back the coughs but it was no avail. They wracked his body in a wicked shake, causing him to heave some and gasp. His tail flicked in irritation, even as he dug his nails in the dirt.

DAMNIT ALL TO HELL!

If there was one thing that he hated most, it was his body. His disease. It would be the death of him. . hmph. How completely inglorious an ending was that.
 

[mouselet]

Ah, that was the answer as to why Mittere didn't have a better memory of Ndale. He had the disease. Even after a year, it was hard to give up the thought patterns of a lifetime, and the pink lioness had long been accustomed to allowing anyone with a terminal disease to slide to the back of her brain. It wasn't that she had anything against them, but simply the fact that they would never be as reliable as someone completely healthy.

The irony was bitter in her mouth as she reflected on her own diseased state. However she was luckier by far than Ndale below - it was not yet so strong in her that she could be so completely incapacitated by simple exercise. There was no way of knowing how long her relative health would last though, and she felt a rush of kinship for the young lion before her.

With a snort that on any other lioness would have been a sigh, Mittere heaved herself to her feet once more and padded over to Ndale.

"A good Warrior knows better than to push past his limits," the lioness cautioned as she came near. "He never knows when his full strength will be needed."  

[Uta]

Ndale heard the approach of another, even amidst his coughing spree, and quickly turned to regard Mittere with a moments suspicion. He recognized her easily - she was, perhaps, one of the brightest lionesses in the pride after all - but also knew her to be a strong warrior. He knew a little bit about her history, that she had not been born to the Kitwana'antara, and had arrived shortly after his own adoption to Sliabh. . . .

Still, she was a strong lioness, complete with the scars of battle, and a knowledge Ndale knew he would never achieve. While he was an intelligent lion, he was condemned to the Kitwana'antara for the rest of his days, and the disease that ravaged his body meant his time was limited. He would be lucky to reach Mittere's age. . . very lucky. Thankfully, he was smart enough not to wish his life away. He was given this moment, for better or worse, and would do with it what he pleased.

So what if he'd never become a warrior. . . .

That didn't mean he would slack in his training. Giving a small frown, his typical expression, the brown and gold eyed lion allowed his tail to swing in irritability. Not at her words, but due to the inconvenience of his diseased life. "I fought twice as long yesterday. Unfortunately, this bloody disease doesn't seem to follow a set schedule." He wasn't making excuses though, and did dip his head at the female in thanks for her advice. "But I will take care to be more aware of my limitations." Mittere was, after all, his hero.

She had the lived the life he had wanted to live, had wished to achieve. He had always wanted to fight, to be used in battle, to be strong. . . and yet, the disease he caught so early in his life had stripped him both of strength and of his dream. Such was the reality of life, and it wasn't an easy pill to swallow.  

[mouselet]

Mittere scowled at him. Blaming the disease was...not what she wanted to hear. A Warrior took responsibility for themselves and made no excuses. If he wanted her to treat him as such, then he would have to do better.

"How long each day makes no difference," she retorted sharply. "You must be aware of your body and your limits. Listen to them," Mittere chided. She didn't want anyone injuring themselves out of eagerness, hell, she didn't want anyone injured outside of battle! That was the only acceptable place to be injured and she wanted to be certain that, should somone attack the pride, there would be enough defenders to warn them off.

Not that she expected such a thing, but it was better to be prepared.

"I," she paused and then corrected herself. She was not the Master Warrior, she couldn't use that pronoun. "The pride needs every fighter to be ready and able to defend us as a moment's notice. If you're flat on your back because you pushed yourself too far, you're useless."  

[Uta]

Ndale didn't like what he heard, but he knew MIttere spoke truth. Though his pride was battered and bruised more in her tongue lashing than anything the disease did to his body, he accepted her words willingly. Eagerly, almost. As much as he wished, he didn't know it all, and Mittere was a veteran of war. Her advice, her words, even her reprimands, would only make him better. . . . It wasn't easy medicine to swallow, but she knew best.

Giving a small grunt, the lion gave a nod. "Understood." It made sense. He had pushed himself, but part of him had to wonder if she understood just how difficult the plague made things. To constantly feel as if he had to cough, to not know when he was suddenly go in to an attack just to breathe -- it . . . was hard. Harder than any non-plagued lion, at any rate.

But either way, she was right. If he ignored the signs of his body, he would only hinder himself and become a weak link. The pride could be in more trouble due to it's ill warriors and guards, than against the enemy itself.

And that was what was so damned frustrating. How was he supposed to protect his sisters if he couldn't even battle? Maybe that was why he was given the title as guard. . . he just didn't have the body for a warrior, not anymore at least.

"I''ll have to do better recognizing how far I push it next time." He tilted his head in thanks for the lioness and her words. He wasn't one for small talk, and knew she wasn't exactly a chatterer either. But Ndale was truly, genuinely grateful, even for the few moments she'd spared him. Even if she didn't like what she had to say.

He respected Mittere, and yearned to be more like her.  

[mouselet]

The pink lioness nodded curtly as Ndale accepted her wisdom. Young, still strong despite the disease, and willing to learn. He was a good one to have in the pride's fighters. The Kitwana'antara could use a dozen more like him. The disease was still a problem factor, but it could be worked around from what she'd seen. Well, it could be if the lions in question didn't push too hard. There was such a thing as going overboard and she was determined to prevent that.

Still, she had to be concerned with the unlikely though still possible event of a battle. How much could the diseased warriors be relied upon? What if the shakes or weakness should come upon them in the midst of a military action? There was still too much she didn't know, that she had to learn.

Mittere wouldn't shirk from her duty though. Even if it meant pushing herself to the breaking point. What she wouldn't allow others to do, the pink lioness would do to herself. She had no intention of setting a bad example, she simply had to know what was and what wasn't possible.

"See to it then," she concluded by telling the younger lion before going back to her interrupted journey.  

[Uta]

Ndale would have been honored, had he been able to read Mittere's thoughts. He respected the pink lioness, had always looked up to her even as a young cub. She had been gruff, was forward, and hard on ones pride but . . . . he believed in her with his very life. She demanded respect, and looked to be a most excellent teacher. She didn't coddle or pull her punches, but she forced someone to learn and to grow.

As the pink lioness spoke her orders, Ndale gave a final curt nod of his yes. "Yes, ma'am." But unlike cubs, who might use the term to refer to a mother, or purely out of polite rhetoric, Ndale used the word out of pure and utter respect. There was no sarcasm, there was no humor in his words. She was not just some female, she was a master warrior, whether she held the official title or not.

When she left, Ndale didn't hesitate. He would take her words to heart, would consider his body and better keep in mind just how far he could push himself. He was sick, diseased, but he would make sure he did better. He was no official warrior, but he would defend the pride to the best of his abilities. He would be no good hacking up a lung when the time might come to be called upon. . . . besides which, he wanted to prove himself as capable. If others were to rely on him, he just couldn't let them down. . . .

So it was, Ndale made an oath that he'd not just work harder, but he would work smarter. Starting tonight.

[.fin.]