The Oasis was asunder.

When Halimede returned from the challenge, she noticed a mess of scents, a sickening mixture of the Mire leading familiar Oasis lions out of the territory. She recognized a few, and not others. Violarum, Olive. Her nose crinkled, studying the fray of pawprints strung across the ground, broken debris where the dried branches of bushes were snapped under the weight of a scuffle. A sick feeling settled in her stomach, still reeling from the battle they'd just endured, and unsure what to make of the mess before her. It was impossible to tell if Olive was whisked away from Andal against her will, or if she'd gone willingly; given the evidence of a fight, Halimede could only guess that it was done maliciously.

Disappointment ached like a bitter wound, one left burning under the sun, wondering if perhaps she could truly see past such transgressions in the wake of friendship. She tried to think of it like a chase. The Mire lions were clearly leaving her a game to play, some test and true show of strength that was meant to impress Halimede.

But even she was not that naïve.

She turned her gaze toward the empty expanse of desert behind her, shuddering and oh-so-parched, remembering now that the pool that had once fed the greenery of the oasis and the lions within was now turned to dust, barren.

Victory suddenly felt more hollow.

@Seneca

It's smart — coming for Andal when they are distracted. It's smart, and Seneca is irritated that he did not think of it first, that he has allowed them to be weakened. There is a story here, written in the sand on the pride's borders, marred with the scents and pawprints of lions from the Mire, and ones from the Oasis — his children included. Much like @Halimede, he can conclude that his brother's prisoner and Olive are gone now, but he cannot tell if the latter was of her own desires, or of theirs. Unfortunately, that is a problem he must leave for another time. A frown stretches across his lips as he spots Halimede in the dust, meeting her gaze when he finds it cast across her hip, scanning the empty dunes absently. His head slung in low alignment with his shoulders, he makes his way to her side, his good eye roving over the browning greenery of their home. "I don't know what to do," he admits, his brows furrowing. Seneca is watching Andal all but wilt before their eyes, and he knows that he cannot save it; he cannot will the rains any more than he can control the blistering rays of the sun. And if this is not yet the peak of summer — if the worst is still yet to come, what then?

image by koafox, code by koi

The Oasis was far from what it was when she had last been here.

Back then, things seemed simpler. @Seneca had a small paradise in the Oasis, unchallenged, untouched. But now, it seemed as if both the natural and political world sought to tear them asunder. The Miroslav's ways were not ideal, Halimede mulls, but there were far greater evils in the world than Seneca and Leander Miroslav. Halimede saw no reason to dislike the way they lead, the way they claimed and took and made decisions that might not win the love and favor of others. But they did what worked, and what they'd known as truth for generations upon generations.

Halimede knew the struggle of giving up absolute truth.

Even she still found herself believing those myths that lived as nightmares.

Seneca's admission softens her. It is raw, betrayed, angry. And yet, it rings so distinctively hollow, as if he were icy and walled-off. Untouchable. “Better out than in, right?” she urges, a softness in her humorous tone that is not normally present. And in rare form, Halimede continues more seriously: “You keep going, Seneca. You don't look back at what has been left behind and take solace in the freedom it gives you to move forward.” She was certain that anyone willing to run away in times like this would do the same when faced with war. It were better for Seneca to know the tried and true when he could recoup privately, and not in the heat of battle in a blatant display of betrayal.

“Is this what you still want?” she asks suddenly, seriously. She'd had those very same thoughts those first few months she'd mulled leaving the order. It had been the first seeds planted, the roots that began to take hold. Halimede was curious to see if Seneca even desired to continue weathering this storm; he seemed weary, tired. Perhaps, however, he'd come out of this battered and bedraggled and stronger than ever before.

Seneca had spent his entire youth being taught the art of war. He had learned how to strategize, and fight, and conquer. He had learned how to dominate so that he would never be torn asunder. He had learned to be cold and cruel, to shelter himself from harm, to focus on the only things that matter. But this war, the real fight, is one by the weather waged upon his home, and he has no idea how to fight that. Traitors, he can handle. Betrayal is manageable. But these constant storms, this stripping his home of its value, its safety, its sanctity? That is not something he can fix; it is only something he must overcome, and he is uncertain where to begin, or how. @Halimede, perhaps, worries about the potential traitors in their midst, but for now, they linger on the fringes of his mind. A problem for later. "Of course it is," he answers soberly, though there is something pitched in his tone — is he trying to convince her, or himself? Want has never really been the drive for Seneca, nor desire; it is expectation, duty, family. The latter of which now includes dear Halimede. It would seem that the desert, however, no longer wants us." He purses his lips, surveying the sands swirling in the wind, plants dead, the wellspring nearly dry. How long, he wonders, can they truly survive as it is?

image by koafox, code by koi

She wonders if they would fight if. If they would continue to hold strong, to expand their hunting grounds, to send patrols deep into the wildlands of Amaryllis to oftentimes turn up empty-handed. The rest of this country was not spared the turmoil that had too stricken the Oasis but at least it had been different, survivable. Without water, a lion could not go on for long, and their stores had swiftly dried up. Halimede regarded @Seneca evenly, her serious turn one only garnered because their situation was so dire. She wished she'd had all the answers; if he had asked her of this long ago, she might have had something to give. Some strange sort of blood ritual, perhaps, but at least something.

She felt so helpless, being so empty-handed.

“I really liked her,” she breathed, staring down between her toes, where bits of Olive's fur had blow onto the top of her paw; when the wind struck again, it was blown right back off, disappearing into the depths of the desert. Halimede found comfort in only the fact Violarum's scent was among them. “I wouldn't ever leave. If the desert isn't meant for us, I'd stay by your side,” she reassures him now, her mismatched gaze rising to meet the fiery of his own. She'd left once, twice before, but it had only ever been in her persistent search of Leander, a quest Seneca surely would understand. And now that he was here, now that he was staying, Halimede had no reason to leave Seneca's side now. She only ever had reason to stay.

Uncouth and wild as she was, Halimede was undyingly loyal.

Truthfully, Seneca doesn't much care one way or the other about young Olive. He has no qualms with the girl, but nor had he held any exceptionally fond place in his heart for her — unlike @Halimede, it would seem. He offers her a sidelong glance, considering her comment and the way she looks forlornly at the strands of fur, scattered to the wind. He cannot help but to wonder if she had gone of her own free will, or if she was forced. He sighs, a low huff blown out through his nostrils. "We'll just have to get her back, then," he returns resolutely. After all, if Halimede has other friends to entertain her, he might not have to deal with her rowdy antics quite so often. Granted, he hopes that her new duties as noble will keep her busy as well. "I lost my vision in defense of her, you know," Seneca mentions, wondering if she knew this fact. It is, perhaps, the only reason that he thinks she may have been dragged from Andal. But then again, maybe she didn't see it the same way he does. His head shakes slightly, and wasteland or not, he begins to head deeper into the pridelands to see if there is any more information to glean. He pauses mid-stride, one paw lifted, and offers Halimede the most genuine flash of a smile that he ever has. "I know you would," he murmurs, uncharacteristically soft. She has returned here, time and time again, and he knows as well as she does that the only pull, the only divide to drive her away, had been the absence of Leander.

image by koafox, code by koi

Halimede was indeed high maintenance. This was a fact known by all.

But she also wanted to help, to stay true to those she cared for and defend them in battle. It conflicted with her every understanding to think that one so outwardly pure could desire to leave so brutally, so blatantly. She knew the world was no black and white but she also knew there had to be some more machinating reason for all this to be happening to them. She knew @Seneca was no saint; neither was Leander, neither was Halimede herself. But she'd seen a kinmanship like none other shared between them, one that was undeserving of all that they now endured.

She was surprised by his word. Was he...blind? Halimede looked at him, brow raised in surprised, swiftly swiping her paw over in front of his face to see if he reacted. If he truly had lost his vision for Olive, then Halimede was quite jealous he'd not done the same for her. Maybe she'd have to pluck them from his head as he slept. Sweet penance.

She thought that by challenging for Noble, she'd find a better purpose. A rank vacated by some guy who ditched or got lost to the wind, some empty seat to be filled if only to keep Seneca's ranks full and healthy, even if it contradicted Halimede's every nature. For so long had she shied from the spotlight, fearful of the climb for power and what it could do to a person. All things considered, the ambitions of Miroslav men had paled in comparison to the treachery and backstabbing she'd been used to seeing, and perhaps it was that that had influenced her to do more.

But she were only one person. One very mortal lioness.

“I'll get her back,” Halimede smirked, her gaze turning back toward the desert. She knew, at the very least, where to start looking. She would not so soon let her friend be lost the wind, whether she'd gone willingly or not.

And now, she'd had the power to do something. Not everything, but something.

Seneca snorts at @Halimede's antics — sometimes subdued, but never gone — and shoulders against her with a huff. "Not both of them," he retorts. Obviously. Though her observational skills are truly impressive if she has not noticed the scarring and glassy appearance that mars his right eye now. He twists muzzle towards her to offer a view of the damage, shaking the tousled locks of his mane out of the way. I'll get her back. He cannot help but chuckle, his lips curved into a smirk. "I'll hold you to that," Seneca rumbles, half teasing and half serious. Halimede might as well use her rank, after all, and he is hardly opposed to conflict with the Mire. Especially now that they had dared to invade Andal and take from them in the most crude manner. "Best save your strength until this blows over, though," he mentions, gesturing vaguely at the abysmal state of their home. Wasting time and strength on bringing another body back to the Oasis when they are suffering from drought is hardly a wise idea. Olive, captive or runaway, is better off where she is for now.

image by koafox, code by koi

Ah, well, one indeed could only be blind on the right side. It was rare, from Halimede's own experiences, for when one lost their eyes whoever had done it to them typically wanted both. Halimede's lips pressed into a firm line, feigning offense by his statements but quickly letting it fall away as he assured her she could indeed get Olive back. Halimede's lips curved into a broad grin, faltering only when he'd told her to wait. If it were up to Halimede, she would've marched right to the Mire and asked for Olive herself. Surely, if she were to explain it to the woman, she would feel guilty for leaving behind such an invaluable friend.

It also promised, too, that there would be an end to all this mess.

“When things blow over,” she agrees, hoping desperately that she is right.

fade to exit

He doesn't think it needs said why she must wait. The Oasis is only a shadow of its name, and they cannot afford more mouths to feed. Whether they will even be able to remain here in the coming weeks remains to be seen, and that is a worry that weighs heavily upon Seneca. If it's not one hurdle, it's another. But he is a stubborn creature at heart, and he is hardly of an age to lose that resilience just yet. Seneca has every intention of pulling them through this, one way or another. It is not yet his time to fall — he is certain of it. exeunt seneca via fade

image by koafox, code by koi