Gakere. Surtak. His father and grandfather, the former Abaholi of the Bonelands.
To Indovu, they were nothing more than legends, names mentioned in whispers and old tales. Some of the older females spoke of their names often, usually in junction with better times. A solid pair, two strong leaders that ruled the pride through the best of times and the worst.
He had never gotten the chance to meet them, given their disappearance. But still, Indovu was held to their standard. He and his siblings were the last of Gakere and Surtak’s lines to be born in the pride. Their mother had spoke of them often, especially Gakere. She held high hopes for her cubs. Or, more specifically, Umkhombo and his sisters Izinyathi and Uheshe. Indovu, cursed with pale grey fur and a light-coloured mane, had all but been snubbed. And it was not fair. Was Indovu not also a son of a former Umholi? Did not Gakere and Surtak’s blood run through his veins just as much as his siblings?
But it meant nothing.
And now, it was time for him to leave. So left he had, but he knew exactly what he needed to do. Indovu needed to train. His sisters and mothers in the Bonelands had taught him well, but nothing could compare to the hardships of the roguelands. Indovu needed to hone his skills and become a better fighter. He would let the roguelands break him down and mold him anew.
No more would he be the small little cub lost in the storm, trembling at the mercy of the great tusked beasts as they rumbled above him. No more would he be the small boy in need to saving from his mothers and sisters. Indovu would become stronger, become faster. He would become so great that even the elephants of the savannah, his namesake, would tremble at his coming.
Indovu would make them see. He would make them all see.
But where could he go? Indovu knew nothing of the lands outside the Ithambo’hlabathi. He could simply wander, hoping his feet would lead him towards his goal of their own accord.
The distant trumpeting of the herd drew his attention. Indovu could see them, great grey shapes visible even miles away. Their migration always took them out of the bonelands for a few months at a time. Indovu could follow them. No doubt their path would lead to areas of fruitful hunting and bountiful resources. And where resources could be found, so to could one find competition. Competition was exactly what Indovu needed, the chance to fight for what he considered rightfully his.
The grey male took off, large paws leaving behind faint prints in the dust. How fitting it was to be following the herd once more. His life in the Bonelands had very much begun this way, looking for the elephants in a fit of cub whimsy. And now it was ending that way, each step he took taking him farther and farther away from the Bonelands border. Each step was like a memory that he was leaving behind. His mother’s cold attitude and obvious favouritism for his siblings. The disappointed looks and stares. The feeling that he was nothing more than a failed relic of another time that he had been unsuccessful in living up to, the knowledge that to some he was a ghost of the past. His light mane be damned.
Well he was leaving all of that behind him now. He would not be a relic or a ghost, but rather a promise. His future was ahead of him, and he needed to abandon everything that had happened to him in his old life and embrace a new one. Indovu would become worthy of his bloodline, worthy of his mother’s pride. No, no, Indovu did not need his mother’s approval. Not any longer. Indovu would make himself proud. He would do right by his father, by his grandfather. After hearing all the stories, all of the tales of their success, it was the only thing that felt right. Someone had to live up to their memory and make sure they lived on in the minds of others for generations to come. It was a burden that Indovu accepted, one that he relished.
It was odd, however. In order to create a new future for himself, Indovu had to look to the past for answers and examples. Perhaps that is how it always was, but the lion had not realized it until now. Now, when there was nothing to hold him back. Now, when there were no whispers making him feel as if he as less than his siblings. He was on his own, but he was also free to choose his own destiny in a way that he would have never been able to should he have chosen to stay with the pride as an Ahluke.
No, his destiny was much greater than that. The male could feel it in his bones, feel it in his blood. He was meant for more than celibacy and cub-sitting. He was meant for more than aimlessly traveling the roguelands. He was meant for greatness, for power, for leadership.
The heat would be his teacher. The dry parching of his throat would be his mentor. The ache of his paws would be his opponent. The blood on his claws would be his oath, an oath to be more than his father or grandfather ever were. The wounds and the pain and the agony would be his creators. Indovu would make them see. He would make them all see.
Behind him, the wind breezed through the dust, blowing away his tracks in the dirt. There was no trace of where he had been, only the smooth, windswept ripples of sand. A part of Indovu wanted him to look back over his shoulder, one last fleeting glance at his home. But the lion kept his eyes forward, steadfastly staring at the herd on the horizon. There was no looking back, not yet. Not until he was worthy. There was only the future ahead of him.
WC: 1020