Aneistri could smell stale blood before she even spotted the Pit. Its scent, so rancid and thick, wafted around like a warning sign, a welcome mat, enticing anyone looking for a little bloodshed—for whatever reason each individual saw fit to seek it out. She wasn’t averse to fighting—it had been something of a way of life for her family—but after losing her bout with her brother she didn’t feel too keen to try her hand against some random foe.

Still, she was drawn to the place anyway.

She paused as she reached the upper edge, peering down into the scuffled, snowy center, bearing the marks of a recent bout. Whoever had battled here were long gone, and a few smatterings of red showed someone had been a clear winner. “Hm.” Good for them, she guessed.

The plum lioness almost turned to leave then, thinking nothing more of the stepped slope and crater at its base, when she spotted something. Green. Green didn’t exactly belong here, not during this season, maybe not even because the place was designed for destruction. But as she did a double take she realized there was far more to this place than she’d first gleaned. Plants, sparse and scattered, dotted the slopes, barely peeking out of the snow with a relatable stubbornness. She had her herb pouch with her… Maybe some of this could be added to it?

Curiosity piqued, Ani slowly slunk down one of the sides of the pit with a thoughtful frown, unsure which little clump of hidden green to go for first.

@Isildur

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Isildur never finds himself at the Pit.

Strange for a boy his size and strength to lack a desire to fight. Certainly, he'd never shy from it—he had family, sisters to protect. But the root of Isildur's interests lie not in the swinging of swords or gnashing of teeth. He prefers to use his tongue, his words, and a mind that is constantly desperate to understand what eases the nerves of all the ambitious and greedy. Peace is not a foreign concept, no matter how much the spectators of Amaryllis like to play it so.

So he comes not to fight, but to observe.

Unfortunately for Isildur, there is not a soul around.

He doesn't notice the sprouts in the middle, as @Aneistri does. Resilient, incautious, destined to be trampled under the feet of the next lion that deigns this place their battlefield. But in Isildur's ignorance, she weaves down the slope of the Pit and makes haste toward the herb. And he cannot help but notice her.

Wait—no—that can't be.

Isildur's eyes narrow as he watches the streak of star-speckled plum descend into the snow. It is only when she settles in the center and begins to root around the small piles that it finally register. He cannot remember her name, but he remembers her face, her voice—in passing, once or twice.

The scent that belongs to her now is roguish, uncertain. It's nearly enough to cause him to stay his hand, to wonder what had happened between then and now that had compelled her from the Hollow. Was it a bitter affair? Would his presence annoy her?

He spends so much time thinking that he doesn't realize he's leaning forward. Then his paw catches on the edge of the escarpment, and he trips straight into the Pit.

code by cala, art by rabbit

Aneistri chose a hidden plant at random and approached it softly through the snow, leading with her nose. She brushed the worst of the snow off of it, gently so as to disturb the frosted leaves as little as possible, and snuffled against its fragile stem curiously. She hadn’t done any collection out this way, hadn’t a clue what the plant was, what (if anything) it could be used for, but, as always when she came across a new plant, she felt a desire to understand it.

If only other lions wouldn’t pose interruptions.

The scuffing sound startled her at first, irritation (at her own reaction) mounting in an instant. Her frown of concentration was already shifting into a glare when she turned her head to face the noise—only to see the tail end of @Isildur’s tumble down the side of the snowy pit.

Much as she wanted to be mad, she simply couldn’t be.

The sight of the hulking lion rolling down the slope was hugely comical to the young lioness, not something she got to enjoy everyday. An undignified snort preceded a series of giddy, girlish giggles as she watched poor Isildur settle at the base of the pit’s curve, an earthy, humbled lump that was brought low—literally. She sauntered over with a wide, toothy grin, her periwinkle eyes thinned out to crescents with the severity of her smile, and stopped beside him with a wicked sweep of her tail.

“Y’know, I think it’s usually other lions who hurt you here,” she teased, more so for her own amusement than to lighten Isildur’s mood. It was only at this close distance that the fleeting, faint sense of recognition hit her, that she knew this lion from somewhere, but she couldn’t recall what his name was.

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

He's, at first, too surprised by the fall to notice she bore witness to it all. Then, the dull ache in his rump and the tangle of growing, boyish mane seizes his attention instead. It is only when @Aneistri's voice cuts through the sound of the wind and his own racing heart that he feels a familiar dread sink in his belly.

Y’know. She is wholeheartedly amused, to his horror. I think it’s usually other lions who hurt you here.

He would laugh, were his cheeks not burning so hot.

Instead he whips around, staring at her with wide, owlish eyes.

It's a new sparring move I just invented, he clears his throat, managing something of a cheeky half-smile despite his humiliation, Took you by surprise, didn't I?

Took himself by surprise even more, arguably.

But he was right, in the end. This close, her familiarity is unmistakable.

He gets to his feet, brushing dirt off his shoulders and shaking it out of his mane. It had already lengthened considerably since he's reached adulthood, but the winter had turned it thick, and it has become so difficult to untangle that it often falls in haphazard clumps on either side of his face.

Problems he'd have to ask his father about.

Small, in the wake of everything else.

He'd had a far cushier upbringing than the girl before him. Yet they were interconnected in ways he would not understand. Yet.

For now, she's a girl his age who was once part of his pride. A girl he should've grown up with, in that case. But there'd always been a sizeable distance set between them.

I don't think I ever...introduced myself, he continues awkwardly, extending one paw while the other scratches at the back of his head. I'm Isildur.

code by cala, art by rabbit

The look on his face, complete surprise, silvery eyes as wide as the moon, would have been enough on its own to send Ani into another giggle fit. Instead, he did her one better: he joked.

Aneistri’s periwinkle eyes grew wide at the unexpected remark @Isildur made about sparring moves, the half-smile of his that somehow wound charm within it coaxing hers to brighten even further, and suddenly she laughed. The sound was full of genuine amusement, no more teasing but an earnest enjoyment, something she rarely partook in these days. Everything was always so serious, so important. It felt so good to laugh.

She forgot her intent to poke and prod, to ensure this poor young lion didn’t live down his fall, and instead kept chuckling to herself as he got his footing again, shaking off dirt and snow after righting himself. Again, that same sense of familiarity itched at the back of her mind, as if she ought to know him, as if there was actually a reason for it, though it didn’t click just yet.

Not until he subtly pointed it out.

Isildur! She’d heard that name before. Before…back in…the Hollow! He’d been one of them, the cave lions, the ones Reti lived with, the ones he’d brought her to live with too. They’d never spoken, as he indicated, but she knew him now, recognition lighting up her expression as she breathed in a soft gasp. “You! That’s right!” Isildur! Now she had a name to match with the face of this lion with the silly jokes. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“I’m Aneistri. I was with Reti.” Surely he remembered him; how could anyone forget the sun-swirled man? He seemed to make such an impression everywhere he went. Thoughts of that pride, that underground world, slowly resurfaced, piece by piece, a part of her life that felt so small and very far away from where she was now. But another face emerged from the fog, another that made her smile, and she winced from an unexpected pang of longing. “How…how’s Thella?” She remembered her too, the kind lioness who had made her feel welcome, who had done as Reti did and ensured she had a place there in the Hollow.

Suddenly, she regretted leaving.

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Isildur is loathe to admit that he does not know as much of his father's kingdom as he likes to think.

Old habits die hard, and when the boy spent the better part of a year exploring the wilds of Amaryllis, he'd found it difficult to ever be content enough to settle. Each day he strays further and further from the Hollow's border. Not for a lack of loyalty for his pride but rather a loyalty to wanderlust. It is the very antithesis of what Isildur wants to become, but the Mother knows just how hard he's been trying. To do better, to be better—to still find joy and kindness in a world that's desperate to claw it out.

To laugh at the little things.

Like falling into the Pit.

You! That’s right! @Aneistri suddenly gasps through her own laughter, and Isildur can't help but feel an odd mixture of embarrassment and pride. I’m Aneistri. I was with Reti.

Reti...Reti... Isildur smiles, hiding his desperate search through recent memory. He recognizes the man and the face it belongs to, but he cannot say for sure if he's ever had an honest conversation with the lion who'd been akin to something of his father's adviser.

Perhaps if he wasn't so busy gawking at the distant mountains and sea, he'd be more learned of his own pride.

Mother have mercy.

How…how’s Thella?

He blinks back to attention, silvery gaze falling upon the reserved, almost longing look she's wearing.

Good, he replies, and he hopes he's right, for he is not as close with his father's queen as he would like. Hardworking, as always. That, at least, he knew to be fact.

I apologize that I didn't introduce myself to you sooner, he begins again, averting his gaze. There were a thousand good excuses for a young boy to make, but none were befitting a prince. Sometimes the Hollow feels so—

He sighs.

—big.

Yet he loves them too much to ever leave.

code by cala, art by rabbit

Good.

Aneistri smiled again with more relief this time, and let her breath slide out from between her teeth in a gentle sigh. She was glad to hear the gray lioness was doing well. Thella was one of the few who existed that Ani had taken a liking toward, one of the few who had taken a liking toward her, and she wouldn’t have wished any ill on her. She couldn’t help wondering if Thella would remember her, and though some part of her wondered how a visit might go she couldn’t bring herself to commit to the idea, even in thought.

What would she do if she didn’t remember her?

Strangely—at least it felt strange to Ani—@Isildur apologized for paying her so little attention when they shared a home, something she would have never guessed to hear. It wasn’t his job to know everyone, to talk to everyone in the pride, so far as she understood things, but…maybe she didn’t actually comprehend what his place was in it. Could she even remember where he fit into their tight-knit family structure?

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” she answered with a careless, rolling shrug of her shoulders, dismissing his worries with a small head shake. “I didn’t really meet many of you guys either.” It wasn’t necessarily for lack of wanting to—truth be told, she’d been rather excited to have a pride again and had wanted to leave a lasting impression upon the lot of them—but the memory of her father and everything he stood for, as always, fell like a shadow over her, a constant worry that she might be made to atone for his sins. Her smile became hesitant, a little nervous as she admitted, “I’m…still surprised I got to join. ‘Cause of my dad and all.” In case he’d forgotten.

Would anyone really forget?

She didn’t want to dwell on it, didn’t want the looming presence of the lion to overtake her life now, and Aneistri made an effort to change the subject. Dragging in a breath, she pressed on, “So what are ya doing out here? This isn’t a cave.” That was where the Hollow lions were most comfortable, wasn’t it?

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Isildur curses himself for his ignorance. For a man who prides himself on knowing, he feels he's fallen flagrantly short. But little tends to shake his confidence. Rather than beating himself up for answering her questions with vague half-truths and for not having to gotten to properly know her during her stint within his homelands, he finds this as an opportunity to grow. He may not have known her then, but he could know her now.

And what a cruel, ironic twist of fate this was.

Eh, don’t worry about it, she reassures him with a shrug, I didn’t really meet many of you guys either.

He laughs. Can't say I blame you. I have more brothers and sisters than I can count.

Alexander has grown himself something of a small army with his sons and daughters, nieces and nephews. Even grandchildren, though they tended to be far more elusive. And though Isildur had never gotten to meet his mother, the family of the Hollow was more than enough to sate any desire for one. He couldn't imagine a world where he felt out of place. Even the stares of pity he once earned as a young boy faded with time.

Isildur, mercifully, was spared the ghosts that haunted his family.

Aneistri, unfortunately, was not.

She is constantly reminded of the shadow that looms over her past, the raw hurt that still accompanies her name, even as the world tries to move on and forget.

I’m…still surprised I got to join, she admits softly, prompting Isildur's brows to raise in surprise. ‘Cause of my dad and all.

Your dad? he asks, and though he has no reason to, he feels a pit begin to form deep in his belly, as if the spirits themselves are nervous for him.

As if they know just how much Aeistrios has taken from Isildur, too.

But the mood shifts, and if Aneistri appears to want to abandon the topic before she's forced to explain, Isildur is content to let her. He's trying to make friends, after all; and he's enough experience with both Genesis and Manon to know that things would move at her pace, not his.

So what are ya doing out here? This isn’t a cave.

His dread disappears, replaced by the warming din of amusement and a low, playful chuckle.

What? This isn't a cave? That meerkat must have lied to me. With an ever-so-dramatic flair, Isildur brings his paw to his forehead, feigning despair. Quick! I must flee—lest the sun offend my Savante sensibilities.

---

@Aneistri

code by cala, art by rabbit

It was a mark to @Isildur’s good character how quickly he was able to adapt to her changing moods. While mentioning her father in passing might have been alright enough, the plum girl wasn’t sure she had it in her to fully get into the nitty gritty details about the lion, not when she was so keenly conscious of how ill-received any word of him tended to be. Even if this silly boy didn’t immediately recognize Aeistrios in her, Aneistri still expected some sort of response once the news came out.

And they were having such a good time…

It would have been a shame to let that all go to waste so soon.

To her great amusement, he dove headfirst right into another joke, once more painting himself out to be some sort of silly clown eager to make light of anything. She welcomed it with a wide, fanged grin, laughing all over again as her tail swayed behind her in absolute delight. It wasn’t often—no, actually, she’d never met anyone who acted this way. Who grasped at any chance to say something funny and ridiculous, all for a laugh. She had to assume it was all intentional, though whether it was entirely for her benefit…

Well, she decided she liked to think it was.

“To the top of the pit!” She joined in, periwinkle eyes alight and shining with humor. It was absolutely silly, what he’d said and her own response; he wasn’t going to melt in the sun and he certainly didn’t need to be saved from it. And yet she wanted to play along, to keep it going for as long as she could, so eager to lose herself in a game that made her feel for a moment like everything was alright in the world. “There’s trees up there!” She wasn’t sure exactly how far they’d have to go to find one, but she didn’t need to look around within the pit to know there weren’t many, if any, shady places down here from which to carry on the charade.

“C’mon!” Ani felt something in her chest turn over with a flutter as she lurched forward and roughly bumped her nose against the young lion’s broad shoulder before taking off toward the slope she'd descended from. She didn’t wait to give Isildur a chance to change the game, didn’t give herself any opportunity to become self-conscious; this was fun, and right now getting this boy to a sheltering, shady spot was all that mattered.

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

For however much her father had altered the course of Isildur's life, the boy never grew up knowing him. Whether by the mercy of his father, who spared him the calamitous truth of his mother's fate, or simply by an attempt to shield a young boy's man from incorrigible horrors, Isildur never knew who Aeistrios was.

He is given that mercy for just a little longer.

And he would never see anyone in Aneistri, but Aneistri.

So he's content to leave the thoughts of fathers behind in favor of their playful ribbing. Isildur would not so sooner call himself a comedian as he would a king, but he's always enjoyed finding the light in darker situations, in pulling pleasant smiles to otherwise forlorn, scorned faces. Eventually, it became just as much apart of him as his long, silken mane or his silvery eyes.

To the top of the pit! she chirps in, eliciting a wide, boyish smile from the prince. There’s trees up there!

Indeed, on the far side of the wide pit, there is a distant line of trees where the forests of the foothills marked the border with the northern territories. Not close enough to observe the coliseum of the Pit, for all its frightening entertainment; but in the winter the walk to them would be pleasant, and brisk.

C’mon! she says, and as her nose bumps into his shoulder, he feels a familiar heat sprawl across his cheeks.

But as she pulls away and darts up the far side of the Pit, the rush of wintry wind that takes her place quickly quells the blushing warmth. It's only a second or two longer before he's chasing after her, though it's difficult for his paws to find purchase in the snow when the sides of the caldera grow steeper.

Why must it be the top? he groans as he catches up to her, before lazily draping himself half-onto her, careful to keep just enough weight off that they wouldn't go crumpling into the snow. Impishly, he begins to mouth at her ear. Carry me.

---

@Aneistri

code by cala, art by rabbit