It had been two months. Two long, agonizing months for Vigo to sit and think and ruminate. At first he hadn't been allowed to leave, but now he kept himself caged. He was waiting. Waiting in a black pit of depression. The kindly pride members gave him his space, leaving him to wallow in unhappiness in his den by himself. Once or twice someone would come and inquire after him, but generally he was left to his own devices. The pride had seen too much suffering and unhappiness to let it upset the flow of things, but also weren't ignorant of its existence in this newcomer.
It took him almost all of the two months to figure out what he was waiting for. Somehow, deep in his heart, he had expected this goddess of pestilence to mark him for death and simply strike him down. This, of course, had not happened. In fact, after the ceremony, nothing at all had happened. No fever. No aches. No coughing or wheezing. Just the depths of despair. At first he'd raged against this goddess who would not accept him, not take his life as she took so many others. Then he'd cycled into bemoaning his life, that he was cursed, or that he was worthless to even the darkest of gods. This had moved into frustration, nearly willing himself to simply lay down and die.
Those two months were some of the darkest he'd ever experienced.
But after a while, it began to sink in that he was not sick. His life was continuing on, and here he was, wasting it just as selfishly as he had before, just in a different way. This line of logic was a jolt to the brain and heart both. He had come here to redeem himself, not to die. He was seeking an easy out, and it was not being provided for him. Who was he, that the goddess of the Kitwana should deign to bless him in the first place? This line of thought was insistent, and finally Vigo leaft his den to rejoin the world.
After grooming himself properly, as he had not done in those two months, his first visit was to the priests. He had learned more of the goddess, spent time praying and offering gifts, no longer hoping for death, but seeking to grasp his purpose in life. Of course, simply sitting quietly beside the altars was not enough to warrant the answer he sought. For that, he would need to seek elsewhere.
This was when he heard rumors of Mith'ando. He discovered that Mith was a relative newcomer as well, though he'd been there ahead of Vigo. He'd also heard that he was courting the queen, which Vigo found astonishing. It took a lot of guts to do such a thing, and Vigo would never have considered doing it himself. Not in all his years would he dare try to woo a queen, much less of his own pride! He had an instant respect of the male, but this was not the aspect of him that interested him most. Mith was said to have visions that revealed some very telling information.
Mith saw how one would die.
From what Vigo could gather, not many yet grasped the potential of this ability. Those few who had apparently approached the seer had not sought the means of their death, but whether it was the disease that would bring them low or not. Would they die ill, or healthy? It was a hot topic, and one that Vigo was willing to pursue. He chose a cloudy day, then tracked the big grey lion down. He discovered him perched on a large jutting rock. It was too high for many of those who were actively ill to scramble up, though those mostly healthy could manage it reasonably easily.
Vigo gazed up, vaguely intimidated by both the lion himself and by the gift of such knowledge. Was he brave enough to face this? He debated yet again, but firmly steadied himself. He needed to know, for his peace of mind. Was he going to sicken? He had to ask. "May I come up?" he called politely up, rather than intrude on the privacy of the other male.
Mith had been lost in thought and had not noticed the dithering black and brown male below him until the voice floated up to him. Blinking owlishly, he inclined his head to peer down at the nervous looking lion. Ah, not one he knew, but clearly come with a purpose. As there was likely only one purpose that could be, Mith steeled himself for the coming request. It wasn't that he minded doing this for others. It merely was tiring physically, mentally, and it wore on him emotionally to be witness to death upon death. Even so, the benefit was greater than his personal trials at the hands of his visions. "Assuredly. Come and speak with me," he called down, shifting his spot to allow more room for his visitor.
Vigo leaped up, one perch to another, until he was atop the raised surface beside Mith. He took a moment to gaze out over the dens. It gave a wonderful view, and the scene was surprisingly peaceful. Lions, hyenas, creatures of many species wandered here and there. Few rushed or looked harried. Most appeared relaxed and content. He spotted a few that limped or stopped often to rest, but the sounds all blended to a pleasant murmur. He would have to come here more often, as it was a serene scene to absorb.
Turning his attention back to the grey lion, he settled himself into the spot vacated for him. Introductions first seemed most polite. "My name is Vigo'tamort," he began hesitantly. "I'm new to the pride. I find it... surprisingly peaceful," he finished with a little start of surprise. He hadn't really stopped to think about the pride as a whole, what it was like as a home. He cast a wry smile at his companion. "I suppose it's silly for me to have thought it would be chaotic or dismal. I imagine most newcomers expect that, but learn differently."
Mith let the male talk, aware that some of his ramble was nervousness and some of it was self-discovery. It was noteworthy how much self-examination happened when someone joined the pride. The prospect of a lifelong disease often prompted such personal journeys. Mith had been no different. "Many do, yes," he answered with a smile. "I did not expect quite what you describe, but have found Kitwana'antara a home I never suspected I could have." All too true. Most places rejected him for his very abilities that this male now came to him for. "Though I'm sure you already know it, my name is Mith'ando." He bowed his head regally in greeting.
Vigo was starting to understand how or why this male courted the queen. There was something... well, almost other-worldly about him. It wasn't even just his ability to see the future. It was how he carried himself that gave this impression. Vigo just barely suppressed a shiver. This sort of mystical thing was not something he was comfortable with. "I... ah," he started, then stopped, looking embarrassed. How did one broach such a subject? Mith waited patiently and quietly as Vigo sorted it out. "I would like to know, if you can," he finally got his thoughts together enough to make some sort of attempt at his request, though it rang as entirely lame in his own ears, "whether I am to become diseased, or will I die from... something else." The last two words were rushed, an unwanted and unpleasant subject. He had already decided he did not care to know exactly how he would die. Just whether he need worry about spreading the disease or not.
It was as Mith expected, and his facial expression did not change from patient attentiveness as the request finally made it to his ears. Ah yes, another such inquiry. Mith did not tire of doing such things for others, and in fact was pleased by the openness and acceptance others had of his ability here. "I will do as you ask," he said quietly, shifting to face the other male more directly. "I ask for nothing in return, and will tell you as much or as little as you desire." Upon Vigo's nod of acceptance, Mith reached out and touched his paw to Vigo's outstretched leg.
Though Vigo tensed for some sensation or... ripple of energy, anything at all to indicate something was happening, he was a little disappointed when nothing did. He sat still and quiet while Mith seemed to concentrate, eyes closed. Birds chattered not far away, cub laughter wafted up on a soft breeze, and the clouds moved across the sky. Not daring to disturb the seer, Vigo said and did nothing at all.
Mith opened his eyes after a time to give his supplicant a sober look. Death was never something he took lightly, not after seeing so many. It rarely was ever a cause for rejoicing, most certainly not when the one he saw was sitting alive before him. But he had only been asked for one detail, one specific aspect of the vision. This Mith could and would offer, and that only, as asked. "Vigo'tamort, you do not die of or with the disease," he said softly, his voice resonant in the quiet. "You are immune to the goddess' gift." Whether the news was welcome or not, it had been delivered.
Vigo himself wasn't entirely sure how to handle this news. He returned the big male's steady gaze, taking in the sobriety. He fought with his instinct to try and decipher what this expression might mean concerning his death. He didn't want to know, and he didn't want to guess. He'd been told what he wanted to know, and it was time to leave. "Thank you," Vigo offered simply, rising to his paws. Without another word he turned and hopped down, step by step, to the ground.
It was time to consider his future, for there was no question now that he had one.
