The sky is still dark when the haggard lioness took her final, stumbling steps. She sought solitude, to rest and recuperate, and the cave system of the Freyr mountain range seemed to promise that. The unfortunate woman was a prime example of how rogue mothers struggled more than most; without the support of extended family or even a mate, basic survival had become impossible for the poor wretch and her newest litter. She'd been on the brink of abandoning her remaining child - a daughter - at the doorstep of the nearest pride land; a final, desperate act to save her baby from a miserable fate.

Alas; she'd been gored before she'd had the chance.

And now she staggered, bleeding, along the mountain path. In her jaws hung the limp and malnourished body of @Elenore, chirping pitifully. They may be suffering, but at least - up until this point - they'd had each other. And then the lioness gasped, retching emptily as she dropped the cub onto the hard ground. The cub bleated pitifully, shocked by the sudden sensation and cold, wet floor; beside her shivering frame, the now recumbent rogue lay, bleeding out. With her last ounce of strength, she would pull the child to her scarlet stained breast in a bid to share what little body heat she could.

The tiny mewls of the girl could barely be heard over the din of the rainstorm. It would be futile, anyway; by the time anyone else found them, the mother would be dead, and the cub not far behind.

@Ianthe

Most of the blood had been washed away with the downpour, so by the time Ianthe reaches the summit, she's not expecting what she finds.

At first, she can't make out the shape, moving closer to what she thinks is a gazelle carcass judging by the slender outline, it's not until she's only a few tail-lengths away that she realizes -

Oh, Gods

A sound is punched out of Ianthe's chest, a gasp or a cry, she's not sure. It's a lioness on the ground, red rivulets snaking through the water around her. Unconsciously, she takes a step forward, both horrified and fascinated, green eyes moving across the gaunt, gory figure when - there - she spots it. Spots her, the tiniest cub Ianthe has ever seen, cradled in the body of a dead woman.

She rushes forward, then, desperate to see the ball of fur moving, living. She doesn't know what she'll do, if the baby has meet the same fate as it's mother.
Little one, she breathes, as if afraid speaking too hard would harm the delicate creature. Carefully, Ianthe reaches her nose out, only centimeters away from the cub's, and waits for a sign that she's alive.

@Elenore

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Within the confines of her frail, bony chest, Elenore's lungs rattle ominously. She is so unaware of her own surroundings at first, that she does not realise that another feline has converged swiftly on the spot where she and her mother lay. Then, a pale maw comes close, studying her, and the little piebald lets out a trembling squeak upon cracking an eye open and suddenly becoming confronted by the visage of a stranger. The voice is gentle and the aura warm, and yet Elenore scoots backwards - back into the abdomen of the familiar corpse and away from the unfamiliar living. She cried out again, squeezing her eyes shut. Go away! I'm scared! The words did not come - nor would they, given her juvenile tongue - but the intention was clear. Elenore had no self-preservation. She was a mere babe, starving and frightened. She didn't know what was best for her - Mama always made those sorts of decisions, and now she was gone. Now, someone else would have to make the decision for her. What will it be - life or death?

What is only a few seconds feels like an eternity, when finally, the cub stirs. Proof that she’s alive - that beneath the visible cage of her ribs, a heart still beats.
Instinctively, Ianthe leans closer, and instinctively, the cub shrinks back, pressing into the fading warmth behind her. For a brief moment, her eyes flash open, bright with fear, before snapping shut again as Ianthe murmurs a few soft, reassuring sounds. It's okay, she coos, you're safe, I have you.

Unbidden, an image blooms in Ianthe’s mind: the cub’s gaunt cheeks round and soft, her frightened brown eyes glowing with joy. Happy, full of life, and hers.

Ianthe had always suspected the Gods favored her, but now she was certain. Divine intervention had placed this child in her path, had even crafted her in Ianthe's own image. A shock of white cascading through the dark plum of her pelt, as if Ianthe had birthed the cub herself.

The thought settles into her bones, all previous anxiety melting away to a relief so profound it leaves her light-headed. Motherhood, the thing Ianthe has always longed for most, given to her from the womb of a dead woman.
Well, Ianthe never claimed the Gods were fair.

I'll take care of you, she promises, and she will. Let's start by giving you something to eat, hum? She hopes the anticipation of food will calm the girl as she carefully lifts her by the nape of her delicate neck.

@Elenore

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The noises that come from the big scary stranger are... not big, or scary for that matter. They're comforting, and remind her of her mother. For a moment, the plum cub ceases to flinch and cower, and leans into the warm breath of the lioness. Almost as if she had forgotten the corpse behind her, and what had happened to them to get to this point. Sweet, innocent child, drenched in rain and blood that wasn't her own. She needed a bath, and a decent meal. Luckily, it seemed @Ianthe was prepared to provide both, and then some. I'll take care of you, was the promise, and Elenore blinked and chirruped feebly up at the piebald storyteller - an altogether pathetic noise, devoid of energy and fight. That had left her, now, and would take a fair bit of encouragement to come back. Oblivious - for now - to the fate that awaited her, Elenore could do little else but remain limp and compliant in the toothy embrace of the woman that would become her new mother.

Take me home, please.

EXIT

The tiny girl, hefty as a feather, lifted easily in Ianthe's jaws. She didn't fight it either, hardly even wiggled. Ianthe knows it's not due to a newfound sense of trust, but the weakness and the hunger that's pacified her.

Mouth full of precious cargo, Ianthe spares a single prayer of, thank you, to the lioness who had given her this gift. She will repay her, with the fattening of cheeks and the brightening of eyes, but first she had to get them back home. Now.

Moving as fast as she dared back down the mountain path, thinking of meat and milk and warmth and safety, something else creeps into her mind. Elenore, the name she'd always wanted to give to her first daughter, the name she hardly ever thought about for the devastation of longing it would leave in its wake.
It was not devastating this time, not now that she could finally give it purpose. Elenore she thinks again, twisting it like glass in her mind to catch the light. My first daughter.

/exit

@Elenore

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