Dawn was still just beyond the horizon as Atmaca left the safety of the close knit pride's sleeping arrangement to seek solitude at the edge of their new territory. It was lush and green, different from the Bonelands she had originally come to know, though it hadn't been home to her long before the move. At least those lands had reminded her somewhat of the desert pride she had been born to—and consequently exiled from.
It won't do any good to think of them now. There's no going back.
At least her craft could be put to good use here. With the new Abholi in place the lionesses had been eager to prove their ability to provide the Ithambo with a plethora of new life. There were plenty of expecting mothers to nurse and midwife these days. It only bothered Atmaca that these lionesses disappeared for several days to birth their litters. It wasn't a practice she approved of and she didn't like the idea of leaving them alone and defenseless in their most vulnerable moment. Not, that she did, of course. She had already gained a reputation for being a nosy Busisa, not willing to abide by the long cherished traditions of the pride and often sought out her patients after they had already left to labor their cubs in private.
More often than not her invasion was met with an unpleasant attitude which she roundly ignored. Leaving a healthy portion of meat for the famished female, which was never refused even despite their disgruntled reception, and checking the litter for signs of distress before taking her leave again until the little ones were ready to be introduced properly.
That was how things were now. One day you were cherished as a pride's most valuable midwife, turn around and suddenly you're desperate for any kind of validation amongst strangers who consider your trade to be little more than unwelcome hovering.
Pathetic.
How long are you going to watch me? Without glancing over her shoulder Atmaca spoke to the dusty gray female she knew was behind her. The one who also wore an Eye of Ra upon her shoulder. Mark of the ordained. She was touched by the Gods. Gifted. Even if wholly unaware of it. It was eerie to see such a marking outside of her pride.
I could ask you the same thing. Simosihle mused quietly, finally closing her hesitant approach to sit beside the strange Busisa. Their backs to the rising sun, staring into the fading darkness that retreated to the furthest reaches of the Earth.
You think I don't notice, but I feel your eyes. What is it about me that makes you look so.... It was hard to describe the expression Atmaca wore whenever Simo noticed her gaze. Even now she wasn't sure how quite to explain it. She saw so many things passing through those golden eyes it was hard to tell just exactly what the strange lioness was feeling at any given moment, ....worried.
She settled finally after an awkward pause, allowing her head to tip to one side inquisitively. The slate lioness, with her sweeping, rust colored markings and eerie eye spots had arrived with Maditah a while back, but her past was shrouded in mystery. There were things about her, habits she had, that suggested she had been part of another pride before her time in the roguelands, but no one as of yet had been able to pry that story from her.
Everything about you worries me. Atmaca snorted in her typically abrasive manner. Truthfully, she was caught off guard by the fact that Simo was alert enough to have noticed her scrutiny, but she wasn't ready to admit her suspicion of the Umama's origins. That would have meant revealing her own—an idea that didn't sit well in her stomach given the unfortunate circumstances of her dismissal from her home pride.
Can't say I know the first thing about being an Umama, but I can bet it wasn't a position meant for being a floor pelt. She added, arching a brow as her own head swiveled to eye the dusky female. I'm not sure I can respect a lioness who lets others walk all over her.
Is that so...? Laughter, light and airy warmed Simosihle's throat. The Bonelands was filled with all sorts of personality types, Simo had always been good at navigating them. Perhaps that was part of the reason she'd been promoted to the rank she held. It honored her to think that other lionesses looked to her for guidance in such a way and she made every effort to do her best by them, but she'd often found that Busisa didn't quite understand her role amongst their sisters, which was not one of control and dictation but rather of reassurance. She was their rock when they were uncertain, a safe haven to look to when times were difficult. A shoulder to cry on and an ear to vent their troubles to.
Simosihle was of no better standing than any of the other lionesses, but explaining that to outsiders who saw others come to her seeking her assistance was difficult. Well, I'm not for everyone. If I trouble you so much, you can always bring your concerns to Ukwazi. Perhaps she can better put you at ease.
To hell with that! Atmaca spat, immediately irritated by the diplomatic tone Simo wore. She was certain the female had been wearing her “Umama Hat” so long she'd forgotten what it was like to simply be herself. I want to know what your deal is. You brought Bangizwe home, vouched for him, even helped groom him along the way so he'd be well received by the rest of the lionesses. You should have been the first to have cubs by him! Doesn't it piss you off even a little bit that the others didn't fall in line behind you? How can you be so damn complacent?!
Ah... that. Amusement shimmered still in her deep brown eyes, though her gaze drifted now, turning to the endless distance ahead of them, It's not their fault. It's better this way.
Simo sighed, suddenly turning a sharp glance in her companion's direction, I haven't had much luck in the past and if I had failed the sisters might not look favorably upon his ability to sire cubs. At least now he's proven. He's a good Umholi. I wanted him to thrive here. Sometimes being a good Umama means knowing when to stay out of the way...
Well, that put a different spin on things, though Atma still wasn't convinced the lioness wasn't a push over. Yea, yea... still think you're soft.
Smiling politely, Simo added with in a tone that betrayed her usually docile demeanor, Yea, I guess I am. Oh... and Atmaca, if you tell anyone what I've told you, I'll bite out your tongue. Just so we're clear.
[ FIN ]
[Word Count: 1155]