“Behind me Kkali,” Yrsanu murmured. He’d never seen a cheetah that wasn’t speeding away from him, let alone four of them that were standing their ground.

“That’s our kill,” one of them shouted. He was young, as were the other two, but he was taller and lankier, with a crinkle in his brow that radiated intelligence.

“Yeah! We chased that thing from the edge of the Lion territory!” another one yelled. This one was long, sleek, and lean. A runner.

A third stepped between the two of them. Shorter, but stockier. The fourth and the smallest shied behind them. “My pups have fought long and hard to catch this hare. They deserve it.”

“Too bad they didn’t catch it then,” Yrsanu growled, setting the kill down and stepping in front of it.

The mother cheetah widened her stance, putting as much of herself between Yrsanu and her cubs. “We aren’t going to fight you for it. We are simply asking you for a share.”

“Is there a problem?” Yrsanu asked. “Cheetah’s can’t catch their own kills?”

“Stop it,” Kkali breathed. “It wasn’t a fair catch.”

“When has fair ever played a factor in our lives?” he snapped back.

“Your friend has a point,” the mother said. “It will be better if we share it. Allow us to part ways afterwards. I am Tsiqai, and these are my cubs, Lukarin, Kirisa and Tiruk.”

Yrsanu’s head dipped lower, and he curled his lips back revealing huge yellow teeth. A low growl escaped from his throat.

Then, all of them turned their heads to the left, as the grass parted and a magnificent female lioness showed herself.

“Who’re you growling at, scavenger?” she said, with a voice like silk.

Another lion emerged from the grass as well, this one was an oversized male. “What have we here?”

“We were just passing through,” Tsiqai assured. “We’ve been in a bit of a holdup.”

The huge male lion, with a black-tipped mane, noticed the hare. “Passing through? And taking our prey I presume.”

“This isn’t your territory! These are free lands!” Kirisa piped up. Her mother hissed at her to be quiet.

“Not anymore,” the lion declared. “The land to the west is crowded with black rivers and rolling creatures. It smells of smoke, and the buffalo are always alert. Two of our pride were killed last moon by a killer that cannot be seen. We need this land. And if this is our territory, then that is our kill.” He lazily walked over to Yrsanu.

The hyena snarled and lunged forwards, only to be batted aside.

Kkali shrank into the grass as the huge lion picked up the hare in his mouth and walked over to Tsiqai.

“We’ll be on our way, I assure you,” she told him, her feet almost vibrating with the urge to run.

“Predators mean competition. Competition is something we cannot afford to have.” His head sank in his shoulders as he walked towards her.

She stood her ground, blocking the path to her pups. A fatal mistake.

The lion swatted her in the neck, with his claws fully extended, tearing through her veins and flinging the lighter carnivore to the ground.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Instantly, Kirisa, Lukarin, and Tiruk attacked but his roar made them halt in their tracks.

“Let this be an example to you. No other predator will set foot in our land!”

Yrsanu, still lying on the ground and feigning death, recognized the lion at last. This was Karangoul, the king of the savanna. The only creature that Aluraki feared was Karangoul, and the only creature Karangoul feared was Aluraki.

As the great king and his mate disappeared back into the grass, the pups swarmed to their mother. Kkali leaped out of the grass and stood beside them.

Yrsanu could see the situation as he stood up, glancing at the claw marks on her neck.

She was lighter and frailer than he was. Built for speed, not brawn. The claw had punctured her jugular, and she lay in a pool of her own blood, painting her fur red. Her breaths were rasped, and short.

“My pups. Death isn’t a tragedy. It is a celebration,” she wheezed. “I have lived long enough to herald you three, and you must carry on my legacy. Fight, only when fought. Treat others with the respect that you would want from them, even if they don’t give it to you,” she coughed, making more blood spurt from the wound. “Remember your promise to your children, and to your ancestors. Let me pass now and live long enough to raise children of your own. Our species… must survive.”

Kirisa was frozen in shock. Tiruk was rubbing her face along her mothers back. Lukarin stood as still as a stone, muttering prayers. Kkali looked horrified and pressed to Yrsanu’s side. All five of them remained with Tsiqai, unable to provide any help besides their presence, waiting for her soul to leave. The five of them were grim-faced, but Tsiqai was smiling.

“Do not be sad. I’ve been gifted the chance to live. As have you.” Her voice became weaker and fainter, and her face became wan. “Follow your honor, as well as your hearts.”

Kkali buried his face into Yrsanu’s coat, wouldn’t stop shivering, even after Tsiqai had stilled.

Her three cubs remained, standing vigil with blood collecting at their feet. None of them had thought that it would come so soon. None of them were ready to brace the savanna alone. They didn’t have to. They weren’t alone. They had each other.

Yrsanu was the first to speak. “Death among Hyenas… it’s different. With cheetah’s, it’s so fluid. So… proper. When a hyena dies, they are buried, or even eaten, and the others move on. Some even celebrate that they are allowed to move up their ranks…”

The cubs didn’t reply, but huddled together, snuggling against each other as the last rays of sunlight dispersed.

“I didn’t know that life outside of the pack was this bad,” Kkali breathed into Yrsanu’s pelt.

“It isn’t. At least, it won’t be,” he replied, shaking the smaller hyena off him. “We just need to get out of here before… it comes.”

Kkali nodded, his big eyes looking impossibly larger in the moonlight.

“Leave?” squeaked one of the cheetahs. Yrsanu recognized her as Tiruk.

“Yes. We’re leaving as fast as we can.”

“Are you the only ones left in your family?” she whispered, crawling towards them, unable to bear the sight of her mother any longer.

Kkali shook his head. “We ran away.”

“Why would you ever do that?”

“Hyena’s aren’t like cheetahs,” Yrsanu glowered.

“Most of these scars aren’t from outsiders, but from my own.”

Tiruk recoiled in shock, but before she said anything, Lukarin spoke.

“We… we’ve got to get out of here. We need to move.”

Yrsanu glanced at Kkali. “Can you not feel it?” he asked. “The danger that’s coming?”

Lukarin shook his head.

Kirisa crept forwards, a guilty hang on her shoulders for leaving the vigil. “I… I felt it. Like an overhanging rain cloud of dread. I told Tsiqai, and she said she felt it too and that she’d move us when we were ready. I didn’t think that it would be the lions, but there’s no doubt that it is.”

“It was the lions? Really?” Kkali asked, his small scared form finally leaving Yrsanu’s side.

Kirisa nodded. “It must’ve been.”

“No!” the bigger hyena snapped. “It wasn’t the lions.”

“It was!” Kirisa protested. “What could’ve been more terrible?”

“I… I don’t know… this thing… this thing that’s coming it’s… beyond any of us… bigger than the lions… bigger than the savanna,” Yrsanu muttered, the words tumbling out of his mouth like he was mad.

“Are you proposing that we leave the savanna?” Lukarin asked, incredulously. “That’s ludicrous.”

Yrsanu wavered on his feet, his mind was a flood of thoughts and shadows. “I can’t tell. I think so. I just know that we need to get away from here.”

“Well then we agree on that,” Kirisa declared.

“We’re in accord. We will stand vigil for our mother tonight, and leave first thing in the morning,” Lukarin decided.

The two bigger cheetahs, accompanied by kkali, went and stood by Tsiqai.

Tiruk crept to Yrsanu. “Which direction?”

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow…Where do we go?”

Yrsanu looked to the navy-blue horizon, and to the twinkling stars above. The half-moon covered partially by a grey cloud. He felt the dusty earth beneath his feet and the dried mud beneath his claws. He sought to understand the horrid, aching, yearn that was throbbing behind his ribs. But no answer came to him.

“North. We go north.”