It was high noon under the pounding African sun when The Brothers came into our pride. Their lean golden pelts gleamed like savanna grass bellowing in the wind. They marched in rattling beads made from Zebra bone and Wildebeest tusk, their blossoming manes tasseled with reeds and bearing the red and yellow masks of war. They came wielding the hammer and knife of youth with which they would fell our ancient leader Malek. For five seasons the old male lead our pride, but age always ends in a fall.

Ancient Malek the Black Lion met The Brothers at our boarder. Shield and spear clasped between his weathered paws Ancient Malek stood tall and proud in the wavy yellow grass, his worn maw tight behind a grand mask bearing the colors of our pride; green and black. Though his time was surely spent he accepted The Brother’s challenge with bravado and we shall all remember that he fought honorably until his final breath.

With The Brothers victory came the dreaded Blood Right. Our pride has seen seven dynasties and seven Blood Rights but never has one been preformed with cubs so young. Though every huntress in our pride accepts the Blooding as part of the cycle of Lion hood it was devastating for so many mothers to loose their offspring only days after enduring the labor of birth.

I am saddened to write that the Blooding claimed the life of a huntress this season. Sarabi, our oldest, who could not bare the agony of another Blooding attempted to flee the pride with her cub. Her rebellion angered The Brothers, who then chased Sarabi to the edge of our land, wounding her as she ran. We have not heard from Sarabi since the incident, so I can only assume that she has been killed. The Blooding is not meant to harm a huntress and we all mourn our loss.

Nosizwe – Pride Historian

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Ebele frowned in dismay at her brother as he hunched over the pool twining his sparse mane between his fingers. He pondered over his reflection so intensely she thought his face would pop. Suddenly Amadi turned, glaring at Ebele with his stout maw and nostrils flaring. He rumbled deep in his throat. Ebele was not afraid of Amadi’s false growl; it was only him preparing to speak in the soft voice of Cheetahs, for Amadi hated his true voice. “Is it ready?”

Ebele tested the powder. “Yes, its very fine.” She brought the stone bowls to Amadi. Each was filled with a fine colored powder made from flower petals, berries, and roots. One was black and the other a dull yellow. Ebele sat down to watch her brother inspect the paint before applying it to his heavy set brow. First Amadi covered his face with yellow, then with two fingers dragged lines of black from his eyes to his chin before applying spot after spot. This was a pain staking task. Sometimes a breeze would make ripples across the pond, forcing Amadi to stop his progress for a few minutes. His cheeks were huge and bulky so it sometimes took him hours to cover his entire face in spots. Amadi glanced at Ebele. His eyes were deep amber and wide set, so he had to turn his head slightly to get a good look at her. “Aren’t you going to cut my mane, Ebele?”

From where she sat Ebele could see the gash in Amadi’s left ear where he’d cut himself the first time he tried to cut his own mane. Her thin muzzle slacked with disappointment. “I thought you might consider growing it this season. It’s such a hassle to trim.”

A wisp of dust kicked up as Amadi thwacked his tail against the earth. The tip was still nearly bald from his last trim with flecks of red sticking out here and there. “I don’t want it to grow,” a Lionide growl crept into his voice. He must have noticed it because he winced.

Ebele only snorted her disappointment. She slunk away from impulse to provoke Amadi, though knew in her heart he would never harm her. When they were cubs Ebele and Amadi wrestled every day under the watchful eyes of Mother Duma and Father Kgosi, who had rescued Amadi from the blood thirsty savanna as a baby. But there came one day when Amadi grew too big to wrestle anymore. Just one swipe of his paw could crush Ebele’s skull. Even Mother Duma and Father Kgosi showed caution around their growing son. Being the kind-hearted Lion he was Amadi took this quite personally.

Now that they were full grown Ebele had to crouch on her heels just to reach Amadi’s mane while he sat cross legged on the ground. His broad muscled shoulders resembled boulders in both size and stability. Gradually a neck emerged and it too was wound tight with muscle. Once the last of his mutilated fur lay in a pile on the ground Amadi pulled a Leopard pelt over his shoulders to match the designs painted on his face. Ebele wondered how her brother could look so ridiculous and still manage to trick himself into believing he was a Cheetah.

Mother Duma and Father Kgois had their final hunt with the children over two months ago. Although they hadn’t made a fuss over the matter they were concerned about Amadi’s decision to remain with Ebele. Poor Ebele would never find a husband this way. Cheetahs and Lions are enemies; no male in his right mind would court Ebele with Amadi lingering near by. Ebele did her best to convince Amadi to leave herself, but the argument was always the same:

“But if you go, who will cut my hair when it gets too long? And if you’re gone then who will hunt with me?”

“Then why don’t you find a pride to take care of you,” Ebele would suggest with hope in her eyes.

Amadi never faltered to reply; “You would send your own brother to his death in a savage pride?! I’ll be dead in a season!”

So there was nothing Ebele could say, for like all beasts in Africa she knew that Lions are fickle warmongers.

Beneath the plentiful shadows of an acacia tree Ebele and Amadi sharpened their spears for the day’s hunt. They journeyed across the grassy savanna; Ebele dressed in a fine Gazelle pelt with beaded rings adorning her swishing tail and jewelry made from the bones of Elephants dangling from her ears. Amadi envied her beauty. While she was sleek and dainty he would forever be cursed as clumsy, big boned, and all together built like a Hippopotamus.

They came into the flat lands where purple African daisies bloomed and elephant grass grew in oceans of gold. In the distance a Zebra heard gathered fruits, berries, and grass for the afternoon feast in baskets. These were fashioned from golden elephant grass and carried upon their backs. They worked in tight formation and wore sparse clothing so that their strips would conceal their numbers. A clever trick, but Amadi and Ebele found a way around it.

On Ebele’s signal Amadi headed northeast around the heard to a patch of blackthorn bushes where he would wait in hiding for Ebele to separate the heard.

Meanwhile Ebele crawled on her hands and knees, enveloped in the grass. There would be no signal from Amadi to tell her when to attack. Timing is of the essence. Two minutes and thirty seconds into the hunt – Ebele was counting – the tip of her spear nudged something hidden in the brush. The young male in front of her nearly screamed from surprise. Ebele cupped a hand across her muzzle to keep from gasping. Luckily the wound was small, but Ebele was still terribly embarrassed. The two Cheetahs looked into each others’ eyes. The male’s eyes were wide. Ebele’s cheeks reddened. She smiled sheepishly and squeaked her apology.

Fifteen minutes and three seconds later Amadi had a cramp in his legs. Twenty minutes and twenty-two seconds later Amadi could no longer feel his feet. He started to shift his weight. Exactly twenty one minutes after the hunt began the Zebras were beginning to move away. Amadi crouched low as they passed, expecting Ebele to appear at any moment. One by one the Zebras went past in a kaleidoscope of black and white. They vanished across the savanna. Amadi was left with his jaw hanging. He stood tall as he could go and franticly searched the grass. “Ebele? Ebele!” He lumbered across the field, knocking over walls of grass and calling his sister’s name. Soon he began to panic. His voice lost the soothing purr of a Cheetah and with the Lion’s mighty roar he cried for Ebele to return.

Many, many miles away Ebele heard her brother calling. She insisted to her male friend that they move more quickly. Amadi was left panting in the fields of elephant grass: alone.

Bewildered by his sister’s sudden absence Amadi wandered for days on his own. Soon his face began to dirty, destroying his precious spots. So he searched for the plants needed to make more. But he was still missing his bowl, so he had to make due with a large flat stone instead of a small round one. As he mashed the plants the colors began to run together. The roots slipped out from under the crushing stone, squirting their juices in his eye, for he hadn’t enough time to dry them. The results were pathetic and too watery to even use. Left with nothing but mush Amadi tried again, this time drying the roots before crushing them into powder. Still the results were poor but fine enough to wear.

A ravenous, empty hunger plagued Amadi, for he had not hunted since Ebele left. Unfortunately he had never hunted on his own before. Ebele had always been there to help him with strategy. However Amadi was confident and traveled back to the grasslands where Zebra gathered. As he stalked the herd his Leopard coat brushed against the grass. Stalks collapsed around him, hissing vengefully as though to poison him. Just as he neared the fringes of the herd a trumpet sounded from a hollow Rhinoceros horn. Amadi spotted the look out too late, the herd was already leaving. Amadi leapt to his feet in an effort to salvage his meal. The herd broke into a full out run with Amadi trailing at the last. He hurled his spear into the twisting rapids of black and white. In the excitement Amadi thought he heard a cry of pain. He slowed his pace, but as the herd departed he found his spear stuck upright in the ground, his blade tasted nothing but dirt.

After many days of travel Amadi stumbled upon a strange creature the likes of which he’d never seen before. At first he almost fled, believing it to be a Lion cub, but realized with a second glance that this feline was too lanky for a Lion cub, dressed in hunter’s finery and wore, not a diaper, but a loin cloth. Reassured that his life was not in peril hunger took control. He stalked the child sized feline until he could stand his roaring stomach no longer and pounced upon the hapless one with desperation in his eyes.

But the little one was faster than Amadi had expected. He whirled about just in time to see Amadi’s leap and made a magnificent jump of his own, landing beside Amadi and drawing a small dagger cut from a black stone. No matter how Amadi fought his claws cut only air as his prey would jump away fast, only to swing that little knife, leaving thin red marks on Amadi’s paws. Finally Amadi collapsed in submission. His tongue lapped over his fangs as he panted, “I surrender! How is it one so small can fight so valiantly?”

“How is it one so powerful can battle so poorly?” the little one replied.

Amadi’s eyes closed in grief. “I am not powerful. All my power lay with my family, and now they are gone…”

The little one put away his knife. “But you are a Lion, albeit a scruffy one, but a Lion none the less. You might have fought many times in your life.”

Amadi would have glared had he possessed the strength. “I do not wish to fight. It brings only death and sorrow.”

The little one laughed. “You’re a romantic, I see. My name is Paki; The Great Bird-Catcher. I am a Serval.”
Amadi smiled at the prospect of finding a friend. “I am Amadi; The Great Fool.”

Paki smiled and sat down in the grass. “Tell me, Amadi, why did you attack me? I should think that I am far too stringy for a Lion of your size!”

“I haven’t eaten in days. I can’t catch any prey.”

Paki shook his head at first. Then a cunning grin over-came his delightfully small face. “I think we may be able to help each other, my large friend. To the north lives a pack of Hyenas. I’ve lost three wives to them this season; they’re fat with the meat of a thousand Servals, despicable vermin. I would be most endured to you if you would dispatch them. And being plump as they are I’m certain they would make an excellent meal.”

Amadi’s mouth had already filled with drool. He hesitated. “But I’ve never fought Hyenas before…”

“Bah! You are Lion! Those filthy pigmies will be no match for you! Now follow me and remove that dirty skin from your back. You must be dreadfully hot under a second layer of fur.”

Amadi glanced at the Leopard’s pelt draped over his shoulders. With little more than a sigh he let it slip from his back, unleashing the tangled beginnings of his mane. Amadi picked at the hairs as he followed Paki through the grass. Along their walk Amadi explained his origins to Paki, telling him of his mother who died trying to defend him from the cruel traditions of his race. Paki nodded in solemn. “Ah, Lions are a ferocious race, Amadi; but is Africa herself not just as vicious?” Amadi weighed these words upon his hardened heart.

Shrieking howls and rattlesnake tails greeted them at the edge of the Hyena’s den. The pot bellied dogs pranced madly around the carcass of their latest kill while their women ripped bone from bone to be fashioned into the crude skeleton vests and masks prized by their despicable race. Their costumes played an eerie melody as they gathered around the remains of the dead. Paki watched with flat ears. Amadi held back a growl. Even so, he was reluctant to fight against a pack of Hyenas. Paki gave him a quizzical glare and with a hesitant grunt Amadi made his way into the pack.

At first the Hyenas were petrified with fear as fearsome Amadi lumbered into their pack. But Amadi only stood there. Slowly he cleared his throat and began to tell the Hyenas that he was disgusted by the way they disrespected the bodies of the dead and for this he would kill them. Paki was frustrated with his new ally, for all beasts in Africa know that Hyenas are by far the lowest, most dishonorable race of all. Their brains were too tiny to understand their own squalor and they proved this by pouncing upon Amadi before he was ready. What insured was a violent scuffle of Lion claws swinging, Hyena teeth chomping, and all in a sea of manic, chilling laughter. Somehow, in the mist of battle, Amadi managed to make out the sound of Paki shouting; “Roar, Amadi! You must roar!”

So Amadi gasped franticly, throwing Hyenas aside as he filled his lungs with air. The air came rushing up his throat in a great monsoon and as he opened his jaws a most terrible sound emerged which shook the earth and caused the trees to bend over in fright. The Hyenas froze. Amadi had just enough time to spear one through the throat. The rest of the Hyenas shrieked and started to run but Amadi perused. His spear flew through the air, sticking in the ground inches from the flying heels of the last cowardly dog. That night Amadi and Paki used the Hyena’s fire pit to cook the Hyena Amadi had speared. Paki dressed his friend’s wounds and they talked together and laughed at the expressions on the Hyenas’ faces. For the first time in his life, Amadi felt like a Lion.

As they ate Paki thanked Amadi for doing away with the Hyenas. “Now that you have helped me I think I ought to do something for you. Do you see that ridge to the far-east? A pride of Lions lives there. If you would like to join them I could show you the way.”

Amadi gazed eagerly across the savanna; the crackling embers cast an orange glow over his regal features. “I should like to see Lions…”

Paki cocked his large ears. “But would you join them?”

Amadi busied himself with a hunk of Hyena rump, chewing over each bite. “I don’t know.”

So Amadi set off with Paki to find the Lion pride. With each step of their journey his mane grew wild until Amadi wore it like a fantastic black crown. At first he was ashamed of how dirty he appeared, but with time he began to strut with great satisfaction with his mane blowing in the wind. Paki was always by his side, delighting his ears with fantastic tales of Lions. The little Serval spoke with such fervor for these stories that Amadi began to wonder of Paki was envious of him.

After many days of travel they came upon a traveling heard of Wildebeast. Like most Grass Eaters they were nomadic beasts, carrying all their possessions upon their backs as they traveled from field to field always in search of greener pastures. They were so obsessed with travel that their new-borns were expected to stand up and walk with the herd just seconds after birth. Amadi’s Cheetah family was nomadic too, though he always wished they could simply stay in one place. While they were waiting for the herd to cross Amadi caught a glimpse of something stirring in the elephant grass. In a flash a Lioness exploded from the brush running straight into the herd. The Wildebeast screamed and ran in all directions, but Amadi knew they were playing exactly into her trap. More and more Lionesses materialized on the plains all of them spiraling in around a single Wildebeast. Amadi was in awe at the precision of their teamwork. He was struck by a great pain, for he longed to talk to these huntresses. But Paki pulled sharply on Amadi’s tail, letting him know with a stern frown that his desires would end badly.

Amadi lingered just outside the pride’s boundaries for several days, watching the enchanting dance of the Lionesses as they hunted and cared for their young. One day while watching his pride hunt from the comfort of an acacia tree he was shaken from his trance by Paki’s frightened voice. Gazing down he saw his small friend fending off an inquisitive Lion cub with a pudgy belly. Three other cubby cubs wearing colorful diapers and cute head-dresses decorated with bird feathers to make them look like manes came toddling out of the brush. Amadi couldn’t help but laugh. He’d unwittingly stumbled upon the mother’s daycare. Since the cubs were left alone while their mothers hunted Amadi took it upon himself to watch over them each day, though Paki stayed high in the branches where curious teeth could not reach his spotted tail. Sometimes Amadi tried to stay with the cubs after the hunt was finished but Paki would always pull him away, reminding him that the huntresses would not favor his company. His persistence would pay off for the cubs.

One day on his way to see the children Amadi spotted a pair of Leopards carrying flint knives and nets encroaching upon the cubs’ hiding place. Outraged Amadi charged to their rescue, taking the Leopards by surprise. The Leopards snarled retaliation and attacked Amadi while Paki ushered the cubs to somewhere safe. Unbeknownst to the battling cats one of the Lionesses heard the noise of the fight and called her fellow huntresses to investigate. Just as Leopards were on the verge of defeat when the huntresses came charging in. Seeing the reinforcements arrive the two Leopards fled, but Amadi stayed behind to catch his breath. All of a sudden the huntresses attacked as though Amadi were just another Leopard looking for an easy meal. Taken by surprise it was all Amadi could do to run. Paki caught up quickly; it would be suicide to stay with the cubs for too long.

Though Amadi was not badly injured he felt anguished inside. How could the Lionesses attack him when he was only trying to protect their cubs? Didn’t they see he was only trying to be one of them? Paki looked apathetically at his friend. “Male Lions kill cubs, Amadi. They’ll never let you join their pride as an outsider. If you truly want to be with other Lions you’ll have to fight their male and win.”

Amadi was torn. “If I win I’ll have to kill their cubs, what difference does it make? If I could just convince them to let me join as an outsider-“

“Then their male will kill you. Think, Amadi!”

Amadi did think, just not in the same way as Lions should. He knew he could never kill a cub knowing the pain it caused. All the same Amadi loved this pride as though they were his family and realizing that they would never accept him unless he fought their male sent a pang of regret through his heart. A heavy sigh left his throat with a growl, “If that is the only way… then I will do it.”

Paki beamed with excitement for his friend. Immediately they set to the task of gathering reeds, bones, wood, and other raw materials to create the ceremonial battle mask. Amadi collected ingredients to be grinded into paint which he applied to the mask in yellow and black designs, including two streaks of black flowing down from the eye slits. It was the same way he decorated his face so long ago, before he found his Lionhood. Paki stood on Amadi’s back to tie in the reeds, slipping one bead down the thread and then another. Yellow and white, yellow and white, over and over again until his mane was ablaze in the sunlight. With his spear in one hand and shield in the other Amadi marched to the edge of the pride’s land. Paki remained at Amadi’s side as long as possible until the reached the boarder where Amadi was forced to leave him behind. Paki bid him good luck as he marched across the flat lands towards the base of the ridge.

The Lionesses must have seen him coming early, for standing upon the lowest level of the ridge was their male, gazing down at Amadi through the slits of his green and yellow mask. Lionesses gathered around them in a circle; snarling and whooping at the males. Amadi could smell his breath collecting under his heavy mask.

The male stepped down, his enormous mane glistening with beads that seemed to wink at Amadi. The male addressed him in a powerful voice and Amadi called back, issuing his challenge. Without further hesitation the battle commenced. The male rushed in like a Rhinoceros charging, his spear thirsting for Amadi’s drumming heart. Amadi threw up his shield, knocking the spear asunder, and leaping out of the way before the male could regain his balance. Their spears flew at one another like two spotted Giraffes bashing necks in the wake of mating season. Amadi knocked the male’s spear away and tackled him with his shield. As the male stumbled Amadi swooped in with his spear, wreaking through the male’s mane and knocking his mask to the side. He could see the male’s weathered muzzle peaking out and his shocked amber eyes twinkling. He started to back away but Amadi charged forward with a mighty roar that sent the male running. Everything went very quiet. It took a moment to realize the battle was over; Amadi had won.

Lifting his mask showed a face not triumphant but sorrowful. Amadi looked upon his huntresses who stared back with blank faces. Some where trembling, others were completely still, for they knew what to expect after their leader has fallen. The cubs waited in their dens, unaware of what fate would come to them.

Amadi peeled off his mask and set it at his feet. “I know what you’re all used to… but I stand before you today as the bringer of peace, not destruction. When I was a cub my mother was killed for saving me from the Blood Rights. I have not forgotten her since and I have learned much from my long exile.” Amadi took a deep breath. “There will be no Blood Rights this season.”

Amadi watched their faces sink. The young were over come with tense relief while the old only stared, their eyes a size they hadn’t been since they were cubs. Amadi stuck his spear in the ground and walked into his pride.