Thema had been lurking about on the outskirts of the pride for what seemed like ages. From her perch atop a swelling rise of sand, she'd seen the pride coming and going, talking amongst themselves, fighting, hunting... They were like a huge family, and she felt all her fur on end at the thought of becoming part of that family. Being meshed into the fold. She'd never had a family before, and this one would have her gladly...if only she could show her strength.
And so she'd agreed, and settled in to wait. But duels weren't held every day. And the pride was at odds with drought (at first) and others, outsiders. She'd had to wait. And wait. And wait.
Now at last it seemed she'd have her chance. A white and black lion (more like ball of fur--he was the shaggiest of the lot she'd seen!) was rolling up her hill like an oncoming storm, the look of steel and fire in his alarmingly blue eyes. She was on her feet at once, flexing her toes and bobbing her head.
"Come at last? I'm Thema...Firekin-to-be."
The male slowed and paused, looking her over. She was small, next to him, and sleek. Certainly thinner looking, but then, he himself was so very fluffy. He knew how duels worked. It was not a real fight, simply a test of strength and skill. As long as she did her best, and proved herself...it was not his place to judge her. Even if she had the strangest markings he'd seen since coming to the desert.
"Lumt'vena," He rumbled, his voice like stone grating over itself. A smirk then, "Firekin." He stepped to the left, beginning to circle her. There wasn't much of a reason to delay--this was his duty for the day, and he'd no more dally at it than at driving out enemies or hunting for a meal. He would allow her the first move, but he continued to pace; if she herself delayed, he'd mark that as a score against her, and do it himself. A firekin knew when they were being given an opportunity, and were not afraid to fight.
