Seaki
Here you are! Sorry about the delay.
The balmy, late afternoon air stifled Ahlsen. He had tried a short nap, but had dreams of being caught in the ocean, or under a rock. The warmth, though rare, pressed on his lungs and he felt as though he were suffocating. Desperation pulled him down from the highlands and into the slotted canyon carved by the river.
The blue lioness already partially submerged in the water came as no surprise. He did not recognize her face; the Stormborn were a vast pride. Posture and health served as best indicators of rank. Those who held their heads and tails high, spoke loudly, and whose coats shined were those of power. Thralls more typically kept their heads low, but many personal slaves had fur that gleamed.
While Ahlsen’s didn’t quite gleam, that was due to his own laziness in grooming rather than a lack of food or care. He was past the age of tolerating his mother’s baths, but had not yet outgrown the thought they were a waste of time. His growing fell haphazardly in all directions, flat in some places and standing on end in others. His equally disarrayed tail dipped into the water as he paced along the river’s edge in search of a safe point of entry.
“Hello,” he greeted the other lioness as he neared. “It sure is hot.” Polite greetings had been ingrained into him at birth. Where Yaariq had taught him cordial manners, his father’s protection allowed him the confidence to practice and express them. Not quite a slave, and with the fear of Reaverdom thrust upon him, Ahlsen had little else do to with his day than make small talk. Call it a woman’s sport, but he enjoyed verbal banter and his social skills improved the more lions he met.
In quiet, Yaariq called the Stormborn barbaric, the followers of false gods, and she would sigh and shake her head should he defend them. Ahslen could not remember a time when she did not sigh. He thought, perhaps, if she made an effort to talk to more of the Stormborn, she would find they weren’t what claimed so fervidly.
