#the hill where lionesses roar

[mtonino]

Cinediario 2022 - giugno

The Hill Where Lionesses Roar (2021) Luàna Bajrami

[cateyesinlove]

ACOTAR DAEMON AU!

IT IS HERE, ITS HERE, ITS HEREEEEEE, I am extremely excited to share with everyone this exciting project! I'll be sharing the individual characters and their daemons and a little about them

"The beast plopped into the chair, the wood groaning, and, in a flash of white light, turned into a golden-haired man. From behind the man came out a golden lioness, eyes a bright amber and graceful and intimidating."

"—another High Fae: red-haired and finely dressed in a tunic of muted silver. He, too, wore a mask. A small red fox was on his shoulders laying lazily there."

"Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like his raven’s feathers, perch gracefully on his shoulders, a beautiful daemon, his pale skin, and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me."

"I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but—the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I’d laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt—felt strong, fast, and sleek. And— I could feel fur. Under my hand laid a gray wolf; Big, almost as big as Andreas had been when I took his life. The wolf opened its eyes and looked at me with bright, blue, and full-of-life eyes."

"Her bright, golden hair was tied back in a casual braid, and the turquoise of her clothes—fashioned like my own—offset her sun-kissed skin, making her practically glow in the morning light. “Hello, hello,” she chirped, her full lips parting in a dazzling smile as her rich brown eyes fixed on me, her daemon a small crow standing on her shoulder. “Feyre,” Rhys said smoothly, “meet my cousin, Morrigan. Mor, meet the lovely, charming, and open-minded Feyre.”

“You’re free,” Mor said tightly. “You’re free.” Not safe. Not protected. Free. She carried me beyond the garden, into the fields, up a hill, down it, and into—into a cave— Aster following and keeping guard with Sadek and making sure no one saw anything."

"Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminded me of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Identical long swords were each strapped down the column of their spines—the blades beautiful in their simplicity. perch in one of their shoulders were each daemons, a bat, and a hawk."

"And maybe part of me remained mortal, because even though the short, delicate woman looked like High Fae … as Rhys had warned me, every instinct was roaring to run. To hide. She was several inches shorter than me, her chin-length black hair glossy and straight, her skin tan and smooth, and her face—pretty, bordering on plain—was bored, if not mildly irritated. But Amren’s eyes … Her silver eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen. Around her neck seemed to be a dark-colored snake, black as night, observing me and Aester."

"Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again as a small white owl came into existence flying above elain and finally landing on her shoulder, her pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair."

"Nesta took a breath. And when I beheld my sister, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears … When Nesta looked to me … Rage. Power. Cunning. Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn’t pause, didn’t halt. She was free—she was loose. She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth — Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her! " As Nesta slammed Lucien, a creature came into existence as it tackled Eletta, a huge cat-like creature, holding down the small and stunned fox."

[raisedlikeaphoenix]

Raised like a Phoenix - Chapter 3: Right There Where You Left It

Just like always, it was cold.

Li’Ella held the Lion Beast tight as they ran through the blinding white freeze. Past the long dead trees, past the ice cold hills. Past all the landmarks that acted more like tombstones now.

There was the Wolves' old campsite.

The Gorilla’s old forest.

The Raven’s junkyard.

The Crocodile swamps.

The Rhino’s quarry.

The Bear’s resting place.

The ruins of the Eagle’s library.

She memorized every landmark, every path, every stone knowing which turn to take, which paths were safest, and where hunters would reside. Sometimes a Hunter would spot her but not attack. Maybe they assumed her capture was pointless, they already took so much after all.

Maybe they’re just letting her have this.

She still remained careful. Avoiding all the Hunter’s own towns and keeping a weapon on her at all times.

As they passed the ruins of the Eagle Spire and as the sun began to set, the Lion Beast stopped.

“Do you wish to continue forward?” It roared softly.

They knew Li’Ella struggled with visiting the Lion Temple, witnessing the slaying of your entire tribe for a second time was no easy burden to bear. She hadn’t even really gone anywhere near the place. Not like she could. It was crawling with Hunters ever since that sabertooth ass took it over and declared it as his own castle. No doubt exploiting the chi that the collapsed mountain somehow still produced.

But today felt different.

It's been ten years since it all happened. Ten years since she lost them but she wanted to see it again. Maybe even take a memento from the Temple.

It’s not like anyone else will claim it in the village.

She patted the Legend Beast on the head. “Let's go.”

-

The two crouched in the forest near the Temple, watching as Mammoths, Vultures, and Ice Bears headed up the stairs of what they now dubbed The Saber Tooth City. Lights shined bright inside as music played for their own celebration. No doubt celebrating the anniversary of their victory.

Rage boiled in the lioness as she watched those who oppressed her people get all dolled up and enjoy some damn party. She wanted to burn each and everyone of them alive. Just like what they did to her tribe.

She softly growled in rage, eyes shooting daggers. She was so distracted with her emotions that she didn’t even notice the centerpiece that stood at the top of the steps as everyone cleared away.

Until the Lion Beast whined and nudged her side.

“Wha- what is…”

Li’Ella’s eyes now filled with shock when she saw it.

When she saw him.

Frozen like a statue.

Put up like nothing but a decoration.

Still wearing the fire wings.

His red mane is still as bright as ever, despite the burning blue that caged it.

“Laval…” she practically sobbed.

Was his body really here this whole time? And she was too full of grief and guilt to even bother finding it?

Perhaps the Legend Beast read her mind as he leaned closer to her, Li’Ella patting his mane.

“I… I… we have to bring him back…” She stood up. “He can’t be here… he should be with his people. His… family.” At least to be given a proper burial.

The Lion nodded. He didn’t need to be told twice.

The two scaled the Temple, seeing if there were any guards they had to avoid.

Aside from the two at the front of the stairs, none of the others should be two much trouble.

Li’Ella digs through her bag and pulls out some sleeping darts the gorilla tribe had developed. Pulling her hood over her head she quickly walked over two of the guards to get a closer shot.

“Hey! You-” They don’t even have the time to finish their sentence, as each guard gains one dart in their neck. As Li’Ella heads up the stairs, they pass out. The Lion Beast catches up to her as she reaches the top.

Beasts, it was worse up close.

The Lioness could barely look at her fellow tribemate. His face seemed to have been frozen in a permanent scream, as a lot of flesh and bones had been eaten away over time. He was even missing a whole arm! At the base of the Laval's stand, was a plaque:

Here Lies One of the Many Fools who dared to stand up against Sir Fangar of the Hunters.

Learn from his mistakes.

Li’Ella rolled her eyes.

She wanted to say a few words to him. Maybe an “I’m sorry” or something.

But they were currently standing in enemy territory and if they didn't act fast, they could end up dead.

“Okay… How are we…” She mumbled out loud, trying to think of a plan, while also quickly realized that this might be a bad idea. She dug through her bag trying to find more tools and pulled out the fire chi.

Maybe I can plug the chi and break him off of the floor, then we can carry him home. It would probably be better to carry a block of ice that they can melt later than a body with limbs that can fly around and stuff.

Unless the body was so frozen stiff it-

Stop thinking about it!

As Li’Ella was about to plug the chi into her harness, she caught a glimpse of the fire wings in the ice.

And that's when it happened.

Was it a stupid idea? Maybe.

Should she have thought it out? Perhaps. But she was running on anger, guilt, and grief. Besides, if the hunters can be revived with normal chi, who says fire chi can’t do the same…

So before even the Lion Beast can stop her, Li’Ella plugged the chi into Laval’s fire wings.

-

Cold…

Warm…

Bright…

Burning…

-

When she plugs in the chi, bright light explodes from where Laval stood frozen. Li’Ella closes her eyes, as she feels the Legend Beast move in front to protect her.

The light is so bright it almost burns her very fur as she attempts to shield herself. Then she hears it.

A roar.

His roar!

It worked!

When the light begins to die down, she hears rough coughing. Then a rasping voice (one she has not heard in forever) says, “Li’Ella…”

The sound brings tears to her eyes as she looks up, smiling as bright as the light that almost blinded her. The Lion Beast displays a grin of his own as they stare at him.

Laval of the Lions is standing in an outfit similar to the one she had seen him wear in pictures, before the fire chi gifted him a new one.

But instead of blue this one is more crimson with gold accents. His eyes burn bright orange, but the sclera of the eye is no longer white but pitch black. His scratches and wounds are all a deep dark purple and Laval is still missing an arm. The fire wing harness glows bright as if it had just been polished and not frozen for 10 years.

The three stared at each other in silence for what felt like hours.

Till Laval says, “Uh… did we win?”

The sound of approaching hunters answers his question, as Li’Ella takes his hand and they hop on the Lion Beast, who dashes down the stairs as fast as his four legs can.

“Uh. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Yeah. I think I missed a lot because- WHERE DID MY ARM GO?!”

Laval turned towards the crowd of Hunter’s, many entering their vehicles to chase after them.

“Did we really lose that bad? How long was I out? Where are the others? Are they okay?”

Shots fired as the Lion Beast ran deeper into the woods.

“Well… you all died.” Li’Ella began.

“WHAT!”

“But I brought you back! So, we can do the same for everyone else. Look, I'll explain when we get to the Outlands. It’s a lot. But you're here! And that's what matters.”

Li’Ella turned to see Laval’s face full of horror and confusion.

“What… Did you do?” He whispered.

Despite the situation, Li’Ella let out a small chuckle. She felt bad the moment it came out but she couldn’t help.

“Heh. Necormany I guess.”

Last chapter <- ⭐️-> Next Chapter

-

Fun fact! This whole series (especially this scene) was inspired by the book Undead Girl Gang by Lily Anderson, about a girl who revives her dead best friend and some popular girls to solve their murder.

It's a good book, check it out.

[simplicius-simplicissimus]

Africa - a place of longing

“Born Free” tells the true story of the lioness Elsa in Kenya in the mid-1950s, who was raised by humans (Joy and George Adamson) and then released back into the wild. Elsa viewed the people who raised her as her family and impressively showed how affectionate and loving those powerful and strong species can be. However, through contact with humans, Elsa never learned to survive in the harsh African wilderness. In order to be free and not have to live in a zoo, her hunting instinct had to be awakened so that she could feed herself in the wild. This learning process was often painful for Elsa, because in the wilderness there is a merciless law that only the strong, fast or experienced survive. Finally, Elsa became the first lion successfully released back into the wild, the first to have contact after release with humans, and the first known released lion to have a litter of cubs. The Adamsons kept their distance from the cubs, getting close enough only to photograph them.

In January 1961, Elsa died from babesiosis, a disease resulting from a tick bite. Her three young cubs became a nuisance, killing the livestock of local farmers. The Adamsons, who feared the farmers might kill the cubs, were able to eventually capture them and transport them to neighboring Tanganyika (today called Tanzania), where they were promised a home at Serengeti National Park. The descendants of the lioness Elsa probably still wander through the African savannah today. Joy Adamson (a native Austrian) wrote down her experiences with the lioness Elsa in a book - a bestseller that sold millions of copies and was also made into a film in 1966. There was also a multi-part television series in the early 1970s.

The Adamsons dedicated their lives to the conservation of African lions, and it cost them dearly. When Joy Adamson died in 1980, it was falsely reported that she was killed by a lion, when in fact she had been murdered by a disgruntled ex-employee. George Adamson was murdered nine years later, while rushing to the aid of a tourist who was being attacked by poachers. The tourist survived, but he gave his life to his cause.

„It was nearly a week before we returned. We found her waiting, and very hungry. She was full of affection; we had deceived her so often, broken faith with her, done so much to destroy her trust in us, yet she remained loyal.“

-Joy Adamson about Elsa after a trial to accustom her to the wild

The “Serengeti” in Tanzania became a household name through the countless television programs by Professor Dr. Grzimek (director of the Frankfurt Zoo from 1945 to 1974) on German TV. He introduced us to the diverse world of wild animals, but also to the need of the conservation of their habitats. Unforgettable also the Oscar winning documentary film „Serengeti Shall Not Die“ („Serengeti Darf Nicht Sterben“) - filmed by him and his son Michael. The “Serengeti” was Grzimek’s heart project - he was heavily involved in the preservation of this unique habitat for wild animals.

„But when fifty years from now, a lion walks into the red dawn and roars resoundingly, it will mean something to people and quicken their hearts wether they Africans or Europeans, or wether they speak English, German, Russian or Swahili. They will stand in quiet awe as, for the first time in their lives, they watch twenty thousand zebras wander across the endless plains.“

-Dr. Bernhard Grzimek about the Serengeti, 1959

As a teenager grown up in the 1980s, “Out of Africa” cannot be missing from the list of films about Africa - the film adaptation of Karen Blixen's world-famous novel about her life on a coffee plantation in Kenya.

„I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills. The Equator runs across these highlands, a hundred miles to the north, and the farm lay at an altitude of over six thousand feet. In the day-time you felt that you had got high up; near to the sun, but the early mornings and evenings were limpid and restful, and the nights were cold.“

-Karen Blixen - words that express the longing for the described place

All these films were an inspiration to see lions, elephants and other wild animals in their natural habitat and these magic landscapes with own eyes. We will start in 3 weeks ….Africa: Zimbabwe, Botsuana and Namibia - then next year South Africa. After that we will see where the wind blows us next.

-Simplicius Simplicissimus

[pvrkacciosan]

The Heart of the Lioness: ☽⋆22⋆☾

Bridges Must Burn

The Heart of the Lioness Masterlist

Previous Part

It felt thrilling to fulfill Aelin's requests, working through each one with silent efficiency as they sailed along Eyllwe's burning coastline. The sight had been a struck up side the head of sorts, but there was planning to be done, a very little time to do it.

They had already left the ship, and Brielle managed to send her final letter before they departed, now three days in and Brielle was overheating to no end.

After being attacked by marsh creatures and sweating to the point of discomfort, she was ready to backtrack to the ship, but the promise of securing this lock for Aelin kept her moving forward. Legs burning from the strain, she often trailed further ahead, scouting out. Vera and Alexi were panned out about a hundred metres on either side of her. Alexi had dipped behind a small hill to her right, but she could still track Vera's movement as she trudged over the uneven ground.

They were quiet and fast moving, the first line of defence, Brielle could sense Rowan trailing in front of the group; inline behind, tracking her signals. No dismissal to Rowan's experience, but scouting like this is what she had trained her Pride to do on a daily basis, so the male hadn't argued when she offered her spies as scouts.

When she could see the emergence of a ruined structure, the crumbling pillars and withering ground spanning across the horizon, Brielle slowed, fanning her magic out to reach her spies. Slowing them to fall back to her position. They arrived about the same time, as the rest of the group caught up.

Rowan in bird form, shifted as he made contact with solid ground, stepping to Aelin's side.

"This whole place is too quiet," Rowan turned and watched when Brielle shot her magic out to scour for any living bodies, besides the few marsh creatures her senses were blind.

"I probed the area but... nothing" Rowan confirmed.

Brielle caught the movement when her nephew drew the sword off his back . "We'll circle the perimeter, making smaller passes until we get up to the building itself. No surprises."

Lysandra moved back from the group, to give herself some space to shift safely "I'll take the water-if you hear two roars, get to higher ground. One quick roar, and it's all clear"

Her body quickly, was exchanged from scales and claws, and she slid silently into the water, Rowan looked at Fenrys and Gavriel, who both shifted quickly, Going to follow suit, Brielle turned to where Alexi and Vera stood near the others.

"Scour out, I want distance." they both nodded and moved off, their footfall near impossible to trace.

Quickly shifting, Brielle prowled past the four royals, feeling each of their gazes trail her. She caught Gavriel as he followed his son, the familiar White wolf moving off in the other direction; she followed.

A few paced behind, until Fenrys noticed her approach and slowed, taking a second to examine their surroundings. When she came to the sides of him, he allowed her to pass a little in the front, protecting her blind side. Despite her being more than capable of defending herself, she felt the bloom in her chest, mind reeling from his closeness.

She had to focus, pushing the certainly intriguing thoughts away, Brielle focused on smelling, seeing and hearing anything around them. Checking every small crook and broken wall which could hide the linger presence which could threaten their approach towards the centre of the complex.

When she slowed to trail a scent lingering, Brielle felt Fenrys stop beside her, so close the fur of his coat brushed into hers, he scanned around them whilst she was distracted, the scent faded until it was too faint to detect, even with the heightened senses.

As they continued on, side by side they both froze when they felt it, the dark accumulation of power that surged towards them in waves, the energy was sharp and alarming. A warning.

One they all knew too well, Brielle's heart leapt into her throat, at his approach. beneath the lining of her golden fur, she could feel the itch forcing its way back to the surface.

Fenrys emitted a low mewl to attract her attention, she turned her head to him, solidifying what they both already knew. Lorcan was here, somewhere in the marshes, coming at them fast.

They needed to find the others, quickening into a pace they both stopped once more when they rounded a corner to take in the aerial legion approaching like a dark glooming cloud of shadows and death personified.

Wordlessly they ventured closer to the centre of the complex, where they could sense the others gathering, panic beat in Brielle's throat, she couldn't pick up on her spies, and the fast approaching presence of Lorcan was weighting heavier on her with each second,

Fenrys was tense beside her as they both shifted into their Fae bodies, he clasped her hand, pulling her to him in one swift movement, until their shoulders brushed.

He and Gavriel would both be feeling the presence of Maeve's kill order which was like a price over Lorcan's head. The itch began to burn the skin beneath her sleeve, ignoring it was easier than expected as the group corralled into the complex.

Looking skyward, the looming darkness of Ilken flapped towards them, their leathery wings beating in tandem. Brielle tightened her grip, Fenrys reciprocated it.

"We'll use the ruin to our advantage. Force them to bottleneck in key areas."

Brielle heard Rowan's words, but couldn't look away from the legion, not as they only seemed to speed up as time slowed down. The palm of her hand grew cold, as Fenrys pulled from her grip, to tie back the growing lengths of his hair. Brielle watched him, as she so often did.

"We divide it up, take them out. Before they can get close enough. While they're still in the air." he began to fidget beside his mate, rolling out his muscles and tapping his foot.

There was no hiding what was bothering him, the Blood Oath was a never ending tug that gnaws at your ever sense until there is nothing else but a taut line which could shatter at any second. Brielle worriedly shot a look over her shoulder to Gavriel, who despite his body being relaxed his eyes were squeezed shut in concentration. As though sensing his sisters stare at him, he opens an eye, catching her worry.

His chest heaved but he moved closer, until he was beside her, if simply to let her know that despite the effort of the Oath; he was not going anywhere yet.

Brielle tuned back into the surrounding conversation as Aelin's sharp stare leveled at her cousin.

"You blame me for this?" her voice was a hiss of hot air,

"We should have stayed in the North." Aedion's expression had darkened to glare at his Queen, seemingly forgetting she was just that.

"I had no choice, I'll have you remember"

Although not being there, Brielle knew of which meeting Aelin referred to,

"You did." Came Aedion's retort, "You've had a choice all along, and you opted to flash your magic around." his voice was venom in its own right, but something in Brielle couldn't help but grow in defence of the young Fae female.

Aelin's expression shifted to fire and rage as she stepped up to her cousin, "So I guess the 'You're perfect' stage is over, then."

Aedion's lip curled back in an expression that was once more so inheritably Gavriel that Brielle's breath staggered.

"This isn't a game. This is war , and you pushed and pushed Erawan to show his hand. You refused to run your schemes by us first, to let us weigh in, when we have fought wars-"

Those words were like alarm bells, bleating loudly in her head, over the centuries she had amounted to many mistakes whilst arguing, and none like this ever ended well. Shrugging off Fenrys's grip as she stalked closer to the Aelin and her nephew.

"Don't you dare pin this on me."

Brielle didn't stop her approach,

"This isn't the time" Gavriel voiced, eyes trailing his sister as she stalked closer to his son as though he was her next target, his voice his only advance to stop her from pouncing, Aedion whirled in his direction, throwing out a hand as an order for his father to shut his gods damned mouth, when he did, Aedion's expression faltered before it hardened once more, when he finally spotted his aunt coming closer.

Choosing to ignore her as he turned back to Aelin,

"Where are our allies, Aelin? Where are our armies? All we have to show for our efforts is a Pirate Lord who might very well change his mind if he heard about this from the wrong lips"

Aedion didn't get a second longer to look at his cousin, as Brielle stepped into his line of sight, Blocking Aelin entirely from view. Head tilted down to reduce her gaze to glaring through her lashes.

"Alright, That's enough." Aedion stepped closer, squaring out his shoulders as he glowered down at her. He may be Brielle's own flesh and blood, but unlike her brother she had no issue with putting him back in his place, boxing back in the chip on his shoulder.

Brielle need not use more words; not as every ounce of her power manifested around her, making it as though Aedion's vision blackened at the edges, robbing him of sight, There was a panicked gasp from him, and only when he backed up a step did Brielle lift her head and release him.

"I don't like repeating myself, Nephew."

There was a childish placement in his eyes, he may be close to Aelin, But he needed a reminder of just who his cousin kept for company, whose help she had enlisted when she needed it most.

Aelin was silent behind her, but Brielle didn't miss the hidden thanks and message in her stare. Brielle of all people knew what it was like to keep secret such as this, knew exactly how it would be eating Aelin live inside, to not even tell Rowan.

As though an unspoken reminder to herself, Brielle met Fenrys' line of sight,

"If we're going to stand a chance we need to get into position." Rowan, perhaps the most level-headed of them in that moment, nodded to Brielle and spoke softly,

Aelin, despite the embers dancing at her finger tips, dipped back into the killing calm, she always seemed to wrap around her senses, a deathly poise of action.

"We do this together." She ignored the stares they all shot her way, "Magic might not last against them. But steel will." she jerked her head to Rowan, and then after a second; Aedion. The simple command following a second later, "Plan it."

Brielle stopped next to Fenrys, Pushing her side into his, for warmth. Rowan moved to Aelin, now that Brielle cleared from her side, getting his hand to her lower back.

"How many arrows?"

Gavriel was flexing his straining fist, "Ten quivers, fully stocked."

When Lysandra emerged onto the bank, Aelin moved to her, and seemed to block out the males as the continued planning, Brielle offered small inputs, earning the attention of Aedion who watched when she spoke, he was more silent after their previous interaction, but something new flashed in his expression.

They were still planning when Brielle felt the body beside her lean closer still, felt the warmth of his breath behind her ear before he spoke. "I don't know what you did." His hand bunched into her waist, "But you being protective like that is hot." A tight smile graced her lips, her hand rising to rub at his which still gripped tightly to the bone of her hip, she rubbed a thumb over the ridges of his knuckle,

He sighed against her skin, before leaving a feather light kiss to the space behind her ear, inclining her head to give him perfect access.

"You three herd them- to us" when the coupe realised, Rowan was including them, they pulled from each other slightly. Not missing the way, Gavriel rolled his eyes their way,

"Care to listen, you know, So we don't die" he chimed lightly, Brielle flipped her brother off with a smirk.

"And you lot?" Aedion seemed content to ignore his blood relatives for the time being, focusing on sizing up the group as a whole with his stare.

"I get the first shot."

Rowan inclined his head to Aelin when she spoke, "My lady wants the first shot. She gets the first shot. And when they're scattering in a blind panic, we come in." Rowan's words were clear as starlight on an unclouded night.

"Don't miss this time" Aedion snarked to Aelin as everyone began gathering weapons for themselves in preparation,

"Asshole" came Aelin's reply, the group moved around,

Brielle casts her gaze to Rowan as he moves to Dorian's side, "Short bursts, Find your target- the centre of the group - and use only what magic is necessary, Don't waste it all at once. Aim for the heads, if you can."

Even as Rowan's words rung truth, Dorian shifted nervously, "What about once they start landing?" Rowan, as though sensing her stare, caught Brielle's eye, as he turned to respond to the young king.

"Shield yourself, attack when you can. Keep the wall at your back at all times" Dorian's reply was almost instantaneous.

"I won't be his prisoner again."

The air was ice cold with the possibility that any of them would suffer that of which the king had already endured. A movement atop the crumbling ruin wall, drifted their attention as Manon leaned to chime in,

"If it comes to that, Princeling, I'll kill you before they do."

Aelin spun, "You will do no such thing." the command had a glare shooting from the Witch. Brielle couldn't let this happen, not here, not now.

Ripping into each other was not the way to go, not if they needed each other to survive. Angling her head to Dorian, she traded her expression to one that forecasted nothing but her conviction, Sensing her impending speak, the three royals hushed,

"That won't be necessary," flicking her stare to Manon, the Witch tilted her head, Brielle blinked her stare back to the King, "Because I'm not going to let them reach the ground; not alive anyway."

Dorian held her stare for a few seconds longer, taking the moment to puzzle out exactly what the commander meant, from the stories he was told as a child, one could only imagine.

"Thank you." Dorian's words signals the group's movement, as everyone shifts to collect their weapons, mentally preparing themselves for the fight ahead.

Brielle watched as Aelin moved for the water's edge, Rowan following her pace. Turning around in her mate's arms, Brielle fumbles to secure her hold against him, but the shake in her hands withered her every attempt.

Fenrys released a sigh as he watched the others, over her shoulder, as they began to move into position.

"Fen. . ." It had been so long since they had fought side by side, they had been doing this for decades, and putting on a brave face was far easier than facing the reality that one of them might not walk away. It had become a habit to ignore what she did not have to face. But now, with him here...

He clasped the sides of her face, no words being passed, he simply inclined his head down to rest it against hers. When she closed her eyes, she missed as he continued to watch her, admiring everything he could before they pulled away,

"I reinstate my comment of hating couples." an approaching voice had them pulling away, despite the tugging in her gut to not let go,

Alexi's lanky figure moved closer still, "Where you want me, Commander?"

Narrowing her eyes, she smirked, plucking her own bow up from the ground, she held it out to her spy, Alexi frowned before taking it,

"Up you go." her words seemed to spark confusion within him, turning slightly, Brielle peered up towards where Manon stood tall, despite her gaze fixating on the oncoming legion, Brielle knew the female was listening in,

Alexi's eyes widened, "Brie- Commander," his eyes were pleading, but he still moved towards the wall, when she didn't respond, Alexi swung the bow onto his back, and began the short climb,

Brielle watched as he situated himself away from the Blackbeak-Crochan heir, body stiff as he began to toy with the feathered fletchings on the ends of the arrows. There wasn't any more time to find the amusement in Alexi's fear of the Ironteeth, or in-fact ponder on where exactly Vera had stalked off to, not as Aelin wandered closer to the field which would lay her exposed to the Ilken.

A kiss was pressed into her temple, as Fenrys also moved off quickly to take his place in the reeds.

Catching onto the young queen's movement out onto the plain, Brielle moved towards where Rowan stood.

"He's here" Rowan wasn't referring to the Ilken, but in-fact their old companion, Lorcan. His approach meant many things for the group, Brielle said nothing to her friend, not even when she could sense Rowan looking at her.

"Bri-"

"Don't say anything," Rowan's expression twitched when she turned her head to meet his stare, she couldn't cloud her judgement right now. Not when she needed to focus.

Stepping forward to following Aelin onto the plain, she was stopped when Rowan reached for her, "You shouldn't go out there,"

"You will thank me for this." he released his grip, Brielle turning back around, "Please remember your promise" she only allowed her mask to crack for a second, Rowan's chest rose as he inhaled, nodded he didn't attempt to stop her again when she turned back around.

Even at her approach, Brielle could sense Aelin's magic, the air around them warming in answer to her call. Even from this distance, Brielle could feel the eyes of her nephew, mate and brother tracking her from where they all hide in the reeds. Hidden from the view of the horde flying straight for the two Fae females.

Brielle stopped a few paces back from Aelin, and got to work. There was no hiding that Aelin had been conserving as much of her power as possible, and good thing she had. But that put her at risk of a burnout if she moved her magic too quickly.

Brielle began to concentrate, as the air grew hotter, she pushed her magic outwards, wrapping it around Aelin's body, around them Brielle could sense the faint noise as Lysandra riled up the nesting sites of the marshes creatures,

Paying little mind to it, Brielle focused on Aelin, on the Queen's internal inferno. The magic was battling with her, the pressure was rising within Aelin. If she was going to hold out long enough to defend them all, Brielle needed to make sure Aelin stood long enough to let out every last ember.

As the burnout was rising, the pressure pushing Aelin's body to breaking point, Brielle got to work, forcing the cells to repair themselves, using her own magic to keep Aelin steady enough to continue rolling out the inferno.

So when the rain of arrows came down from the male hiding in the reeds, Aelin was ready. They both were. Ready to make Morath scream.

☽⋆❈⋆☾

Merle was a few paced behind Lorcan and the young women, Elide. As they ventured up the incline, Both women being rushed on by the demi-fae male, who seemed to be on a death streak.

She felt the temperature shift in the air, as the metal mask covering half her face began to heat, Lorcan had stopped at the edge of the hill, looking upon the valley in the marshes.

Merle jogged the last few steps, jerking to a stop beside him.

The sky was darkening, descending upon a ruin, they had tracked the aerial legion for hours as they tried to warn the young fae queen of fire.

The female didn't seem to back down, not as Merle could just see her figure standing at the head of a group, another very familiar female behind her. The Lioness.

"Merle!" a feminine voice yelled, a body racing up the hill towards them, her expression frenzied.

"Get down!" she shot a panicked look back to where the heat was emanating,

Lorcan seemed to get the idea as he threw himself down on top of Elide his shield being spung up around them, Two second later Merle didn't even get a word in to Vera, as the half fae female tackled the fellow Pride member to the ground as the whole world erupted into fire.

☽⋆❈⋆☾

Brielle kept the grip of Aelin's body with her magic, keeping the burnout from completely consuming her friend, where the young queen's body lacked and fought to stay standing, Brielle fortified her strength by giving up her own.

The own thrum of her blood pounding in her head, there was nothing else as she split her magic into two. When Aelin's fire began to slow, Brielle could already sense the impending power of Dorian ad Rowan as they too prepared to rip the Ilken to pieces,

Stalking closer, Brielle waited for the Ilken to drop low enough, that's all she would need. She knew Rowan and Dorian could cover the sides, ash was bellowing down from the sky, Keeping a loose leash of her magic wrapped around Aelin to keep her standing, She focused the rest on the remaining Ilken.

The second one flew down from the rest of the pack, the few stragglers struggling to stay in the air, bracing her feet at a width apart, Brielle wasted not a second more, before blasting her magic straight for the lone Ilken.

The sheer force of the strike itself could have been enough to knock the beast straight from the sky, but she was not finished with it yet, and as a second one dropped, she shot out another string of power.

Once she got into its system to begin work, she could just disintegrate their insides until there was nothing left, but that wasn't deserving enough. It was like seeing a picture in her mind, felt around with her magic as she went straight to the muscles of their wings. Felt out the taught ligaments and tendons that held the appendage to their bodies.

Constricting the joint at where it connected to their backs, she could hear their inhuman growls of pain as she completely severed the connection. The leathery wings fell away as they tumbled downwards. Pouring every ounce she could, Brielle filled its body with so much of her magic until its body simply could not contend with the pressure that was rising inside it. It imploded mid air.

The wind and ice of Dorian and Rowan pulled back, leaving only her to contend with the few left in the air, repeating the action, of ripping the wings off their back then letting the pressure do the rest of the work. She imagined it might feel like their insides were swelling until they exploded. Their blood and misshapen insides joining the piles of ash their brethren left behind.

☽⋆❈⋆☾

Merle could sense the magic of Vera's power around them, the shield buzzing, like the sound of her lightening, being one of the Wandering Spy members of the Pride Vera had come to Merle more times than once, to seek information, protection, help.

Their network was endless, It was good to finally see one another again, the family slowly making their way back to one another, her chest constricted at the thought. Perhaps her mind running along the same line, Vera's arm tightening around her.

When the heat died down suddenly, and the sound of Lorcan rising up from Elide's form, Vera finally dropped her own shield. Looking upon the outcast commander of Maeve's Cadre.

"Who are you?" he jerked his chin at Vera, she smiled at him, propping herself up. She simply held up her left wrist, where the imprint of the Prides symbol lay tattooed against her skin. The Lionesses's Paw.

Lorcan's head lowered down, "So there's more of you."

"Well you are old enough to have heard our stories."

Lorcan's head snapped upwards at her words, glowering at her. Merle struggled to hide her smile, just as Vera shot a kiss to the male. Elide laughed under her breath as Lorcan rose, and offered a hand to her.

Vera and Merle got themselves up quickly, both turning to intake the carnage which is now laid across the marshes. There was light conversation passed between the others as the two spies followed them, going down the hillside towards the group, the Terrasen royal had assembled, amongst that group, their own Commander.

They trailed behind the two at a distance, watching them from afar. Until Elide stopped, Merle reached for the small blade at her hip, as Vera stopped tilting her head to listen.

There was something in the grass with them, stalking through the reeds, following.

That was when the beast burst from the reeds closer to Elide, A golden mountain Lion, at first Merle's wanted to leap in excitement, but this was not their commander. The build was too big, Unless she had grown her Lioness form since their last meeting. Merle doubted it of course,

Elide screamed for Lorcan as she ran for him, sensing the panic the two spies took off after the pair, they leveled pace with Elide as the Lion sprung at Lorcan, when the Lion made contact, it took them both to the ground. Lorcan's mighty frame went down like it was nothing.

The Male and Lion tumbled across the ground, Until Lorcan managed to throw the beast off, blood streaking from his limbs.

That was when Merle tracked the white flash, She knew that wolf. Vera was still beside her, as they raced after Elide who had now ducked down behind, well rather fell between two mounds of earth.

Even as they moved they both kept eyes on the fighting bodies, looking for weakness and preferred fighting stances, and the wolf continued to leap between spaces, only confirming Merle's suspicion of who exactly the wolf was.

Even with their trained reaction time, neither spy had time to stop Elide as she surged up over the hill, when the wolf circled around the back of Lorcan, the male too preoccupied with the Lion at his front to pay mind to the wolf that now launched for his exposed back,

The human girl hurled herself into his back just as the Wolf's row of white teeth clamped down on her arm. The two spies, rounded up, following Elide's track, she landed on top of Lorcan when the both fell, His shield flickering up around them.

He flipped the girl over, "ElideElideElide-" she was struggling for a breath, in panic or pain, it wasn't clear.

Lorcan was gripping her face in an frantic blindness that gave him all the composition of a flabberinf fish out of water. "Why did you do that? Why?"

Merle's breath lodged in her throat when she saw the extent of the damage done to her arm, Lorcan whipped his head up so violently it was an amazement that his head didn't snap clean off his neck.

"You're dead, you're both dead-"

There was a flash of light, and in an instant the white wolf shifted to the face every member of the Pride knew. Knew the face of the male who brought their commander the peace and love she so often deserved.

"Lorcan, we were ordered," the voice of the Lion filled the air around them, he made a quick note of the two spies now standing there, dipped his head to them.

"Damn your orders to hell, you stupid bastard-"

Fenrys response was sharp, "We can't fight against the command much longer, Lorcan-"

Gavriel inched closer carefully, "Put the shield down, I can heal the girl, let her get away" his tone was calm despite the situation.

Vera froze beside her, from the corner of her eye, Merle tracked as Vera signed to her. The small gestures made up with slight movements of her hands, so fine that any none pride member wouldn't have been able to detect them as something to note.

There were others approaching, Vera could sense them. Looking on at the makes, she doubted any of them would notice. Especially as Lorcan dropped his shield.

Gavriel hurried forward, grabbing for Elide he pulled her off Lorcan's lap, the other male rose.

Vera crept off towards where Merle presumed she could sense the others coming. Merle moved closer to Gavriel and Elide. Ready to grab the girl and remove her from harms way once her arm was healed enough to not kill her.

Lorcan has risen and when he finally faced Fenrys once more they leash finally snapped.

☽⋆❈⋆☾

Brielle rushed after Rowan, knowing full well where he was going.

However as Whitethorn got ahead, a body slunk out from seemingly nothing. Vera's hair stuck to her face but she seemed fine, especially being this far across the line of Aelin's fire. The relief ebbed through her.

"Merle's here"

Brielle smiled, but continued past, Vera spinning to follow,

"I know, I called upon her to track down Lorcan"

If Vera had the mind to say anything she kept her mouth shut, especially after they came into view of the others.

Lorcan and Fenrys both lay on the ground, both were quick to their feet. Rowan between them. Brielle spotted Gavriel on the floor with a young woman, her arm and his hands covered in blood. She should have smelt it before arriving, but that didn't matter.

Not as she felt magic, ancient magic snap around her body. It took everything within her to resist it's call.

A sob almost broke from her. It felt like every bone in her body was being grinded down into powder the longer she went.

All the males drew their attention to her when she leaned forwards, every nerve in her was on fire.

What had happened? Why hadn't they just killed Lorcan.

"Bri.."

Her mate never finished her name.

Not as everything in her resolve collapsed and she ripped the dagger at her rib free, swinging straight up for his exposed neck.

. . .

Taglist: @dreamiezpsycho@lunaralaraspace@mis-lil-red@mali22@the-fae-are-taking-over

Next Part

[jungle-angel]

This Land (Coyote x Reader)

Summary: (Ancient Fantasy AU) You and Coyote fought for what was rightfully yours and now, you take your rightful place beside your king

Notes: I’ve been on this really weird kick lately where I’ve been reading everything I possibly can about the ruins of Great Zimbabwe and it got me thinking of an Ancient AU with Coyote that may or may not have been inspired by The Lion King as well (seriously, if you listen to King of Pride Rock by Hans Zimmer, it’ll match up perfectly, lol)

Tagging: @creativitybeware​ My friend, I know how much Coyote means to you and how much you loved the one I did for Payback so I figured I’d make this little fic as a little gift for Christmas 

The battle had ended as abruptly as it had begun, the rains falling from the sky, drenching the fires that had burned around the walls of The Great City and the hills nearby. 

A small roll of thunder and the crackle of fires being smothered were all around, the land smelling of rain and burned debris. Your fellow warriors roamed through what seemed like a wasteland, the enemies having retreated, running like the cowards they had truly been. Out of the smoke and mists you could see your familiars, the lions, the elephants, meerkats and all the animals and creatures of the savannah returning to you and the ones who had fought by your side. 

You turned to see Coyote, your chief, husband and the man who had chosen you all those years ago when your father had presented you to his family, descending the stairs of the city walls where he had fought his traitorous uncle. His eyes met yours and for a moment, you could see nothing but burning victory in them. 

You dropped your spear and sword, running straight to him as he caught you, only to be met by a bruising kiss from him. You were overwhelmed with relief that he was alive after that fight, the two of you leaning against each other with your foreheads touching as you reveled in each other’s attention.

Coyote looked up at the walls of the great city and through the rain he could see the huge lion and the lioness who had both followed you into battle, looking down as if to beckon you both up to the walls. 

“It’s time,” you whispered. 

He took you by the hand, the two of you ascending the stairs, taking careful pains not to slip on the stone and all those eyes watching with awe as though you and Coyote were ascending a mountain. You reached the top and couldn’t believe how many were before you.....you and your king. 

The male lion let out the loudest roar you and Coyote had ever heard, the two of you holding hands as you raised them to the air. The roaring of the lions and lionesses, the cries of your fellow warrior men and women filled the air around you, a flash of heat rising to your face and flaring through you as the sensation of victory took over. 

**********************

With the rains came renewal, the land growing green again out of the blackness of the ash that had been left from the fires. Flowers had bloomed, the fields bursting with the harvest and the city filled with people and animals that had come to call this place home. 

The wild pounding of drums filled the air along with joyous singing from the people who lived within. “You ready?” Coyote asked with a cocky grin. 

“I’ve been ready forever,” you replied happily. 

Coyote took your hand and led you out to the balcony of the palace, the two of you dressed in gold and white as the people cheered your names, the animals stamping, roaring and calling to you in their own ways that no other humans but you could understand. The sun shined high above the city, not a single cloud to be found in the sky on that hot summer day and the heavenly smells of the earth filling every corner of The Great City. 

And after all that you and Coyote had been through, you both had at last, found your place in the circle of life. 

[groundbreakingdot872]

every time I see one your delicious headcanons, I get the sudden feeling that all of my writer’s block is going to flee from me for a few precious moments and I’ll suddenly find the Herculean strength to write something decent :)

your writing is so inspiring, it’s almost vicious! The way you tease out these tiny minuscule details into an entire life span of characterization, perfectly spotted with metaphors that make me Feel things it’s just … no words ironically

This idea of ‘Mother’ as this hulking, just massive presence held together as a teeth-clenched grit and an overpowering love translates so well into Merlin’s larger-than-life existence as an immortal and as Magic itself…

I think this is the missing peice of the puzzle, the final cornerstone in what makes Merlin such a interesting character, both in the way he’s cared for Arthur, Albion and all the rest of the millennia till the budding modern legend, and his omnipresence as fucking Emrys, Zeus-like on a hill- this just clicks

and I’m foaming at the mouth

‘the warmth of a hollowed-out carcass in winter’ where you can see every nerve and tissue defined in a space less than a millimeter from your eyeballs, but the reprimand is from not facing it, from not daring to look head-on at the undead membrane cloaking you, sheltering you, blanketing you as the snow falls as quiet and heavy as a dead man’s breath. And you come to terms with the instinctual and gripping nature of survival that protects you while it curses your cowardice.

He’s survival personified, the rising nape of ‘a provoked lioness’ that feels horrifyingly the same as the doom-fall of galaxies and the realization you might lose everything. And with the bitter palm-stained knowledge of having lost everything, he’s more vicious in the face of Dread and Despair than anyone, or anything else.

A ferocity that bares its teeth at the blinding web-weave of destiny and shrieks in a premature grief before anything’s even been lost, the idea that Magic is a second skin to the pull and push, moment to moment, death dance of Nature means he’s well aware of the consequences of losing the game

Mother is Overwhelming, a drowning roar instead of soft whispers, falling in the ears of men who might’ve been prophesied to live just a thimble of life time longer, if they’d hurried under the shelter of his arms. Instead of attempting to mewl in bravery like day-old chicks.

I’m- just fixating so hard on this idea of Merlin, Mother of Legend-born, and his offspring the children of Albion; every brave-hearted youth that might’ve pocketed his stories of Arthuriana and wanted to try their own hand at the ‘sword’ or the play of something greater- but like many curious and terribly naive scampering children, fallen prey to the watchful eyes of Something that Merlin tried his hardest to scare away.

A force equal and instrumental to Magic’s downfall, with Merlin as the Other, second Force. A deadly and cunning and grinning face, at the idea of Merlin’s love, the expansive darkness to his ever guiding light.

merlin is a mother-type character and it’s hard to explain that to people because they see chaos and murder and impulsivity and they think “that’s not motherly” (or else they mischaracterize him to fit their idea of motherly, which is an independent but equal issue) and i need you all to understand. when i say merlin is a mother-type character, i don’t mean the common perception of human mothers. i don’t mean the warmth of an embrace and the reliability of structure and the soothing of an unshakable figure. i mean the kind of “motherly” associated with wild, vicious animals. i mean the warmth of a hollowed carcass in winter and the harsh reprimand of something bigger and wiser than you trying to keep you alive against terrible odds and the vibrating single-minded ferocity that comes with a protective instinct so deep-seated that even something twice as large and just as hungry doesn’t stand a chance against the brighthot rage of fucking with something that should not be fucked with. because magic is a wild thing and merlin is magic as much as he is human and merlin’s motherly tendencies are every bit as feral as a provoked lioness. merlin is not a mother of humans, he’s a mother of the earth and humans just happen to inhabit it.

[pablolf]

Film Journal

“The Hill Where Lionesses Roar“ by Luàna Bajrami

[hirikka]

twisted thrice about the tree

For @mikkeneko! Written for @thewitchersecretsanta

Rating: G Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier Summary: Jaskier finds Ciri just after a sorcerer from Nilfgaard has cursed Geralt—together they need to find a way to break the curse. 

on AO3

Jaskier had been doing his best to avoid danger. It was a new thing for him, and he didn’t think he was a huge fan. He felt that he had to give it a fair shake, after his near-crippling incident with Reince—which had been particularly galling, as he hadn’t even sung any of the White Wolf cycle in months, but that was not the point. The point is that he is avoiding danger, so he should absolutely not run into the dark woods towards the sound of an explosion.

His legs do not seem to have gotten that memo. He curses under his breath but keeps running. It doesn’t take him long to find the source of the explosion—an area of flattened trees that stretched into the distance. Jaskier stops at the edge and thinks very hard about turning around. Until he sees a dragon lift off the ground from just over a ridge and take off into the sky with a flash of silver wings. The dragon circles high above and lets out an earth-shaking roar. A high pitched scream comes from over the hill and Jaskier runs in that direction. He crests the hill just in time to see a portal flash open—there is a man in Nilfgaardian armor holding the arm of a child, pulling them towards the portal. The dragon roars again and Jaskier feels a sudden chill as the creature's shadow blocks out the sun. He has only a moment to act so he springs forward and whispers a blessing on his dagger before he throws it. It flies straight and true—striking the Nilfgaardian in an eye. The man stumbles, releases his grip on the child, and falls. The portal blinks out as he lands. For a moment the clearing is silent. Then the dragon lets out a high keening noise and flaps upwards, the winds buffeting Jaskier and whipping up debris from the destroyed trees. 

“No! Wait!” he hears the child scream.

When the dust settles enough that Jaskier can see again, the dragon is gone. A single silver scale lies by Jaskier’s feet. He picks it up and then moves down the slope towards the child. They’ve fallen to their knees in the dirt.

“Are you injured?” Jaskier asks when he is close enough. The child startles to her feet at his approach, watching him with wary green eyes. 

“No,” she answers after a moment. 

“Good,” Jaskier says. He moves over to the soldier to retrieve his dagger. “Are you traveling alone?” He can’t see any sign of other people—but the destruction around makes it impossible to tell for sure. 

The girl hesitates. “I wasn’t.”

“Did he…” Jaskier trails off pointing at the soldier, hoping his point is clear. 

The girl nods, a little tentative.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. She’s not the first orphan he’s seen in the first few months of the war, and she’s unlikely to be the last. “I would be happy to help you to wherever you were heading.” He can see the suspicion in her gaze at his offer. “My name is Jaskier.” He hopes that she’ll recognize the name at least, a famous bard will hopefully feel like a safer traveling companion than a strange man.

The girl’s eyes widen. “The bard? You traveled with”—she hesitates for a moment—“with the White Wolf?”

Jaskier is about to respond when he spots a flash of silver on the ground near their feet. He kneels to pick it up and it feels as though his heart stutters to a stop. It’s a wolf witcher medallion—the chain has been snapped but the sight is so familiar and it hums softly under his touch. He looks at the girl, she’s gone tense and still in front of him. “Yes, I traveled with the White Wolf,” he says. “What happened here?”

The girl gulps, glancing towards the sorcerer. “He cursed Geralt. He wanted to separate us, make it so Geralt wouldn’t be able to protect me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier gasps. “You’re Cirilla!”

“Ciri,” the girl corrects. “Or Fiona in public.”

Jaskier thinks of the silver scale in his pocket. “And he turned Geralt into a dragon?”

Ciri nods. “I don’t think he knew me, after he transformed, it didn’t seem… didn’t seem like him.”

Jaskier hums, considering what he knows about transformation magic. Wonders exactly how different the reality is from the songs. “Well, we ought to start by figuring out where he would have gone. Where were you heading?”

“The coast.”

Jaskier blinks. “The coast? Why?”

“He didn’t say exactly,” Ciri admits. 

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.” Jaskier sighs. “But I’m not sure if he would have carried on that way, or if he would have gone somewhere familiar…” he trails off, trying to think of any reason he could avoid going to the one person who might know where he was. Unfortunately— “I know someone who should be able to track him for us.”

Ciri brightens. “Who?”

“Yennefer.” 

**

“I don’t want to get involved in whatever scheme you’ve gotten tangled up in.” Yennefer doesn’t even bother looking up from her book.

“Oh well, Ciri, let's go. We’ll have to see if there’s someone else who can help us.” Jaskier says.

Yennefer looks up at that, narrowing her eyes at Jaskier and Ciri. “Why do you have a child?” The disdain in her tone made Ciri press closer to Jaskier. “Nobody in their right mind would trust you with a child.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Please, I’m perfectly responsible.”

Yennefer just raises an eyebrow. 

“Alright, fine.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re correct in a way, her true guardian is very much not in his right mind. That’s why we’re here.” 

Yennefer sighs and then stands. “Alright, you better come in and sit down. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.” 

As she leads them into her apartment behind the shop, Ciri tugs on Jaskier’s sleeve. “Will she be able to help us?”

“Of course, poppet,” Jaskier assures her. “She might not be my biggest fan, but she won’t turn you away.”

“Alright, explain,” Yennefer says. “And keep it simple, please, bard.”

“Right. Simple.” Jaskier has heard that before, fine, if she wants just the bare bones of the story: “Geralt’s been cursed into a dragon and we need to find him.” 

Yennefer takes a moment to process that. She takes a long sip of her wine. “Why?”

“Why was he cursed, or why do we need to find him?” Jaskier asks. “Although, I suppose it's the same answer either way. This is Cirilla, Geralt’s child surprise.”

Yen’s eyes widen. “His child surprise is the lion cub of Cintra?”

“Yes, so you can see why he didn’t exactly feel like he could snatch her away at any time, the lioness was a bit touchy about the whole thing.” Jaskier’s voice is cool, remembering the words he had overheard on the mountain. 

“He was cursed because he was trying to protect me.” Ciri cuts in. Her hand is clenched around the wolf medallion. “I need to help him.”

Yen turns her attention to the girl and softens. “I can create a tracking spell for you.” Ciri lets out a relieved breath but Yen continues. “That will be the easy part. Once you find him you’ll need to find a way to break the curse.”

“I have one of his scales,” Jaskier says. “Would that help in figuring out the details of the curse? How to break it?”

Yen nods, reaching out a hand. Jaskier reluctantly passes the silver scale to her. “The tracking spell will take a few hours to prepare, and I’ll need some time with this to see what I can find out. You can stay here for the night, I have a spare room.”

“Thank you, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, hoping she’ll sense how sincere he is.

She gives a curt nod before pointing down a hall. “And take a bath before you track any more filth into my house.”

**

“I have good news and bad news,” Yennefer announces over breakfast. “Geralt’s not far, you should be able to reach him in three days on horseback.” She pauses. “I’m not sure how to undo the curse. It’s a mess, they mucked something up rather badly and now it’s too twisted up to have an easy cure.”

“Fuck.” Jaskier and Ciri say at the same time.

Yen glances between them with a bemused look. “It’s not hopeless. The curse got twisted, you’ll need to remind him who he is first.”

“How?” Jaskier asks.

Yennefer gives him a pointed look. “You know him better than anyone, Jaskier, you’ll have to figure that out.” She softens slightly. “Three things. There’s a reason the tales always call for three things, three tasks. There’s a real magic there—three things that remind him who he is and then—” 

“Then?” Jaskier prompts.

“Then, you should be able to break the curse,” Yennefer says. Jaskier can sense there is more to it than she’s saying. 

“What if we choose the wrong things?” Ciri asks.

Yennefer frowns. “I’m not sure—you might be able to try again but it could also cause the spell to warp again. I wish I could give you a clearer answer.”

“You’ve given us enough,” Jaskier says, hoping to reassure Ciri even as he starts running through ideas, trying to figure out what options they have. “Ciri, can you go and get Roach ready?” Jaskier asks. Ciri gives him a look that makes it very clear she knows exactly what he’s trying to do but she does head outside. Once she’s gone, Jaskier turns to Yennefer. “Alright, what’s the rest of it?”

Yennefer sighs. “If the curse didn’t break when the caster was killed… then the only sure way to break it is the, well, traditional method.”

“Traditional method?” Jaskier asks. He has a feeling he knows what that is, but he needs to hear her say it. 

“True love,” Yennefer says, as if it is such a simple thing.

Jaskier stares at her. “Will you—?”

Yennefer shakes her head. “The bond created by the djinn warped whatever Geralt and I have—could have had. I care for him, and I know he cares for me—but it’s not true in the way it would need to be to break the curse.”

Jaskier sighs. “Does true love have to go both ways?”

Yennefer gives him a look that, in another person, he might have mistaken for sympathy. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Jaskier nods in thanks and moves towards the door.

“Jaskier—” Yennefer calls. “Try to do it before the season changes or it may be too late.”

Jaskier grimaces—there are so many ways for this to go wrong and such a narrow path to save Geralt. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Good luck.” Yennefer says.

Jaskier steps outside and prepares to save his witcher.

**

“What are the three things?” Ciri asks once they’ve set out. Yennefer had given them a map, Geralt’s location marked with ink she had infused with a piece of the scale so that it would track Geralt if he moved. He is currently on a stretch of coast between Gors Velen and Oxenfurt—the cliffs of the area mean that it is mostly unpopulated which hopefully means they won’t have to contend with any dragon hunters.

Jaskier considers. “I’m guessing that just his swords and medallion won’t be enough for this. The medallion is certainly one of the things, though.” He runs his hand absently along Roach’s neck. “Unfortunately, he was never a big fan of sharing so I’m not completely sure what else we can use.”

“What about a song?” Ciri suggests. “One of the ones you wrote for him?”

Jaskier glances up at the princess—she looks so hopeful and he hates that he has to admit that he is probably not actually well-suited to help with this. She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to. “He wasn’t a fan of my music, to tell the truth.”

Ciri gives him a skeptical look. “He used to hum them, sometimes, when he was trying to help me sleep. He never sang the words but I recognized the tunes.”

“He did?” Jaskier can’t hide his surprise. 

“Yes,” Ciri says, as if it should have been obvious. “He talked about you, about how you helped him.”

Jaskier snorts.

“I’m serious!” Ciri says with a huff. “You were the only person besides his brothers he ever really talked about.” She has an intense look. “I know you’ll be able to figure out what we need to bring him back.”

“Ah, well.” Jaskier is at a loss for words. He wishes he had as much faith that his knowledge of Geralt would be enough.  “I’ll certainly do my best.”

**

“A song, the medallion…” He taps his quill against the page, trying to think. “Ciri, I think you might be the last thing we need.”

“What?”

“Material possessions have never been that important to him,” Jaskier says. “His medallion is a symbol of his profession, his purpose. The song to remind him that he’s more than the monster people claim he is, and you—you’re his destiny. His future.”

Ciri tilts her head. “Really? It's been such a short time… are you sure it wouldn’t be his swords?”

“No,” Jaskier says, he’s as certain that she is part of this as she is that his song will help. “The swords are just tools, he’s lost them before. Gotten replacements. They’re important to him, certainly, but not, I think, in the same way that you are.”

Ciri ducks her head to hide a pleased smile and Jaskier hopes to all the gods that he is right. That they both are. They’ll reach the coast and Geralt tomorrow and he needs this to work. Jaskier lets out a long breath as he watches the dragon disappear from sight. Tries to calm the racing of his heart. He’s so desperate for this to work, so scared that it won’t. He makes sure he is steady enough to pretend at confidence before he returns to where Ciri is waiting a little way back from the cliff edge.

**

They can smell the salt in the air long before they see the ocean. As Jaskier had suspected, the area the dragon has led them too is at least a day's walk from any villages. Remote enough that nobody is likely to stumble upon him. Of course, if he’s spotted in the air that’s another matter, but hopefully they’ll have Geralt cured before anyone decides to muster up another dragon hunting expedition. The cliffside they approach is empty except for a single great hawthorn tree. The dragon is resting underneath the tree. Jaskier stops their approach to study him. His scales are the color of a stormy sky, silver and grey with tinges of blue and black. He has several horns on his head but is otherwise sleek and sinuous.

He lifts his head and fixes them with a piercing look. His eyes are still golden but they seem so much colder than Geralt’s. “You shouldn’t be here.” The dragon rumbles.

“Geralt!” Ciri cries, taking a step towards the dragon but he lifts his head higher and bares his fangs. 

The dragon’s tail lashes—the end seems almost feathered and it stirs up a cold wind as it moves. “Leave this place.” 

Jaskier places his hand on Ciri’s shoulder and stares at the dragon’s huge golden eyes. “We need you to come back to yourself, Geralt.” He thanks his years of vocal training for allowing him to keep his voice steady.

The dragon says nothing. 

Jaskier squeezes Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait here,” he whispers as he takes Geralt’s medallion out of his pocket and slowly walks towards the dragon. In response, the dragon bares his fangs. 

Jaskier stands before the dragon and holds out the medallion. “Here is your medallion, the symbol of your trade, your life. While you wear it, you shall always have your purpose.” 

The dragon extends his head towards Jaskier cautiously. “If you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my medallion your death shall be.” The dragon’s words are said in an almost song-like chant—it’s an odd touch, but the whole spell is odd. With the dragon this close, Jaskier can sense the magic; it feels ancient and he wonders exactly what the Nilfgaardians thought they were doing. 

Jaskier places the medallion on the ground and steps back with his hand raised to show that he will not touch the dragon. He watches the dragon extend one clawed foot to pull the medallion in close, holding it close to his face. He is still for a long moment before he launches himself up into the air and over the edge of the cliff. 

“Is he leaving?” Ciri asks, rushing to stand by Jaskier’s side.

“Hunting perhaps,” Jaskier suggests. “I imagine we’re meant to come back tomorrow, and the day after—three days and three items.”

Ciri makes a face. “Why does magic have to be so complicated?”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “I’ve often wondered the same thing. Come on, let's see if we can find a decent spot to set up camp. 

**

They had set up camp in a copse of trees far enough back from the cliff edge that the wind was not quite so biting. They eat a quick breakfast and then head back towards the hawthorn tree. When they arrive, Geralt has not returned. Ciri, needing something to burn off her nervous energy, starts running through her training drills. She practices with a sword that Geralt must have had made for her—it is finely made, well balanced, and she is clearly comfortable with it. 

Jaskier watches for a while before he settles down with his lute, trying to figure out what song might work to bring Geralt back. It’s a daunting task whe he’s still not entirely sure that one of his songs will even help, but they hadn’t been able to come up with any better ideas, so he’ll have to hope that destiny is on their side. 

The sun is high in the sky when they hear the rushing sound of the dragon’s wings. They watch as it lands lightly on the edge of the cliff, water slides off his scales, sparkling in the sunlight. He coils himself around the tree. He regards them with clear interest. The medallion hangs around his neck.

“You’ve come again.” The dragon observes. “To offer another trinket?”

“Ah, not an item this time but a song!” Jaskier says, walking as close to the dragon as he dares before he adjusts his lute. “The medallion was to remind you that you are a witcher,” Jaskier explains. “The reason you walk the path. The song is to show you how important that is, how despite the difficulties, you remain good. A hero.”

The dragon rumbles something that sounds vaguely like disagreement.

“You can’t argue that you aren’t a hero when you don’t remember who you are.” Jaskier snaps. He’s had this fight enough times with Geralt when he does know himself.

The dragon snorts but he doesn’t protest beyond that. He lays his head on the ground gestures for Jaskier to proceed with a flick of his tail. 

Jaskier takes a deep breath and starts to play the familiar notes of ‘The stars above the path’. It is not quite as popular as ‘toss a coin’ but it has more truth to it, written after Jaskier and Geralt had traveled together for almost a decade. Geralt is still heroic, of course, but the story is more complex—not meant to merely please a crowd at a tavern. Jaskier had tried to show the truth of Geralt—his compassion and bravery, his humanity. It’s the closest to a love song that Jaskier has ever written so obviously about Geralt, not that the witcher noticed.

 The dragon seems intrigued at least, his focus never wavering from Jaskier as he sings, and by the final chorus his tail is twitching in time with the music. When the song ends the dragon moves slightly closer. 

“He is your friend? Geralt?”

“He is,” Jaskier says easily. It has been almost two years since he had left Geralt in the Kestrel Mountains, but he still considers the witcher his friend. 

“Then I hope your plan works.” The dragon says before he takes off, flying out over the open water.

**

The third day dawns blustery and cool, the scent of frost in the air reminding them they do not have much time left. Jaskier tries to keep himself calm and steady, he can see how frightened Ciri is and doesn’t want to do anything that might make it worse.

They still don’t know exactly what will happen if they have chosen wrong and they are not able to restore Geralt to himself, but Jaskier cannot imagine they will be allowed a second chance. He fears that the dragon will turn on them, but cannot do more than pray that if that happens he will be strong enough to hold it off long enough for Ciri to flee. 

They wait in silence for the dragon to return—watching as he crests the cliffside and curls through the air above them. He spirals down until he is once again on the cliffside facing them, the long line of his body looped around the tree. 

“Ready?” Jaskier asks, rising to his feet and offering Ciri a hand up.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Ciri asks.

“Then we go back to Yennefer and see if she has any other ideas,” Jaskier says, hoping that will reassure Ciri.

Ciri doesn’t look convinced but she lifts her chin, shifting to stand at her full height. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier nods and together they walk towards the dragon. The dragon watches, tail twitching like a cat preparing to spring.

“You’ve returned.” The dragon rumbles. “What will you try today?”

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “Today, your destiny”—he steps back and Ciri steps forward to take his place—”Cirilla, your daughter.”

“Daughter?” The dragon rumbles the question, eyes narrowed.

“Fate brought us together,” Ciri says, voice fierce and determined. “You swore that we would always find each other, that you wouldn’t leave me!”

The dragon moves his head closer and Jaskier holds his breath.

“Geralt, I need you. Your destiny is more than this.” Ciri says.

The dragon withdraws rapidly, coiling tighter on himself until the tree within his coils creaks a protest. “Destiny is cruel, child.”

Jaskier steps closer, placing a hand on Ciri’s trembling shoulder. “Destiny may have taken much from you, Geralt, but it has given you a gift. A chance for happiness. To have a family.” He takes a deep breath. “Would you abandon your child the way you were abandoned? Do not let this curse turn you into a monster.”

“I am a monster.” the dragon growls.

“You aren’t,” Jaskier says. “You are a witcher, a hero, a protector, a father. You are so much more than they say you are. More than you think you are.”

The dragon darts forward until he is so close to Jaskier that his breath ruffles the bard’s clothing. Jaskier stands still, resisting the urge to push Ciri behind him as the dragon examines them. His golden eyes seem different, warmer than they had before and Jaskier holds his breath—hardly daring to hope.

“You are so sure?” the dragon asks. “Even after the Kestrel Mountains?”

Jaskier sucks in a breath, if the dragon can reference past events then perhaps Geralt’s mind is becoming his own again. “Even after that,” Jaskier says. “Anger doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I hurt you.” the dragon says.

“You did.” Jaskier agrees. “That doesn’t change who you are. You are still a good man, Geralt. You’ve made mistakes but that doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you human.”

The dragon, Geralt, gives a slow blink. He doesn’t speak but he doesn’t move away either. 

“What now?” Ciri whispers.

Jaskier gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Classic curse-breaking,” he says. “The traditional ways always work best. Hopefully.” He takes a step closer to the dragon who is still not moving—just watching with an intense focus.

“Gods, please let this work,” Jaskier whispers, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to the dragon’s snout. 

For a long breathless moment, absolutely nothing happens. Then everything goes white.

**

Jaskier comes back to awareness slowly. His ears are ringing. He feels a small hand holding his own. With a great deal of effort, he opens his eyes, blinking away bright white spots. For a moment he is staring up at the empty sky and then Geralt is there, warm golden eyes scanning his face. Jaskier reaches his free hand up and touches the loose hair falling around Geralt’s face.

“It worked.” Jaskier hears himself say, voice breathless and awed. He touches Geralt’s cheek and marvels at the way Geralt presses into his hand.

“It did.” Geralt agrees. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Oh, well. It was no trouble.” Jaskier lies cheerfully. He’s not certain how to act, how to deal with the fact that Geralt is his true love. “I ju—”

The rest of what he was going to say is silenced and then forgotten completely as Geralt leans in and kisses him. It is soft, gentle and so tender Jaskier almost wants to scream. After a long moment, Geralt pulls back, just slightly, so that he can press his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“I missed you.” Geralt says.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmurs, at a loss for words. Any anger he felt fades away in the face of Geralt’s little smile. He looks radiant with happiness. 

“Um. I hate to interrupt,” Ciri says. “But we should probably find somewhere to spend the night?”

Geralt moves away with a great deal of reluctance. He rises fluidly to his feet, looking no worse for his time as a dragon. He reaches out a hand to Jaskier and pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t drop Jaskier’s hand. 

“What now?” Jaskier asks, trying not to appear as nervous as he feels. 

“We’ll find a place to camp tonight.” Geralt says. “And then… would you come with us?”

“What?” Jaskier asks. “Where?”

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Will you come?” Geralt actually looks nervous as if the answer isn’t blatantly obvious.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “I’d follow you anywhere. All you had to do was ask.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s mouth tilts into a tiny smile. “Good.”

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side B: “The Wolves”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener looks for answers…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “The Wolves” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 1.7k words

Asra and Kipling go to the palace library to see if there are any books on grey magic. They agree to meet Nadia for tea afterwards.

Kipling had a feeling that this visit to the library was going to be a lost cause. And she was right. The gardener didn’t know how long she and Asra sat in silence, leafing through tome after dusty tome under the soft lamplight.

“There’s nothing here, Asra,” Kip huffed. She didn’t want to give up, but she thought it would be best to save herself the disappointment of going through the whole damn library.

Asra dogeared the page of the book he was holding before setting it off to the side and scooting a little closer to Kipling. He brushed a swirl of curls off her shoulder and pressed his forehead against it.

“Kip, come on. Don’t give up now. We can keep looking as long as we need to. There’s bound to be something.”

Kip shook her head. “Asra, no. There’s not even anything that mentions or even hints at the existence of grey magic. And I know exactly why.”

Asra lifted his head. Kipling wanted to gaze into his purple eyes and just let herself get lost in them. But what good would that do? It wouldn’t make her problems go away.

“Why?” The magician asked.

Kip sighed. “There were families on my island who had a lot of money, a lot of power, and a lot of sway over… too many things. They took away all of our records of magic. They employed our finest professors so that upcoming umbras only had the dying elders to rely on. They banned umbras from going to school with the other kids. There was a monastery on a hill where we were all contained.” Tears threatened to spill over as Kipling kept going. “We were only allowed to come down on certain days. We couldn’t stay for long at the market or the festivals or anywhere. Not even the beach…”

Asra tried to wrap his arms around her, but the gardener pressed a hand to his chest.

Asra held her hand instead. “Kip… did no one try to stop this?”

Kip exhaled slowly. “It happened slowly over decades until it was just normal. The people responsible feared umbras enough to cut us off from everything and make sure our magic did not grow beyond that hill.”

Asra waited while Kip insisted on wiping her own eyes. “So when I tell you that there’s nothing about us or our magic outside of the Melting World, I mean it.”

Kip could tell Asra wanted to comfort her. She could feel his concern morphing into waves of anxiety. How long would it have to be this way, Kipling wondered. She and Asra seemed to be in this constant state of worry and confusion regarding her magic. When was it going to stop? When would they be allowed to go back to normal?

“Come on,” Kip whispered, putting those thoughts to rest. “Nadia must be waiting on us with tea by now.”

Kipling walked with Asra hand in hand to the parlor where the Countess served tea and entertained small groups of guests. When they entered, Kip squeezed Asra’s hand before letting go to greet Nadia. The gardener found it a little surprising that the Countess was already at the door. 

Kipling came forward, perhaps a bit too quickly, to embrace her tall, statuesque friend. But Nadia, ever understanding and perceptive, warmly welcomed Kip and absorbed all of the weight behind her burdened breaths. 

While they were still hugging, Nadia said, “Kipling, Asra? There is someone here that I want you to meet.” 

Kipling withdrew and looked up at Nadia in uncertainty.

Her smile was tentative, but still warm. “He arrived unexpectedly. Usually, I wouldn’t permit someone to interrupt the time that I’ve set aside for us, but this man says that he has access to information on grey magic, which I know is something that you, Kipling, have been searching for.”

Kipling’s chest constricted with a sudden, uncomfortable heat. An Elder? Could it be possible that someone from her homeland traveled all the way here?

When Kipling was ready, Nadia guided her and Asra to where the tea was set up. All the while, Kip’s mind raced. Her chest thundered with anticipation.

“Kipling, Asra, I would like to introduce…”

Kipling couldn’t take another step. She saw the back of someone’s head. It could have been anyone. But then they turned. 

No.

Then they stood up.

“An ambassador from the Republic of Floating Isles and an expert in grey magic.”

Kipling took in the long, bejeweled dreadlocks, one of which was starkly white against the rest. The visitor had warm brown skin like hers and a murky green gaze that felt too excitable, too clever for this world. 

“Oz’mandias Sese Mar XIV.”

And that scar. Straight across the bridge of his nose. A jagged brushstroke over his handsome face.

Nadia chuckled, “Did I get all of that correct, Oz?” 

The very same scar that Kipling gave him ten years ago.

“Yes!” Ozy said without looking in her direction. “That’s how you say my name.” His eyes never left Kipling’s.

“Ozy?”

Kipling barely realized she had spoken. She had no idea what kind of reaction Asra and Nadia were having right then. All she could focus on was the boy – no. The man now – from her childhood. How time had matured his features, and yet kept everything that made him the smartest, most talented grey mage she knew. The differences sent Kipling’s mind in a tailspin. 

How could Ozy just look at her like that? With just as much fondness and warmth as he did on the first day they met. How was it possible? After what she did? After the things she said?

“Kipling?” Nadia must have finally noticed. “Do you two know each other?”

Ozy’s gaze dropped in what Kipling knew was uncertainty. He hadn’t told the Countess. 

Asra’s hands were on Kip’s shoulders. She knew he wanted so desperately to protect her, but he didn’t know how and he didn’t know what from.

“Nadia,” Kipling’s eyes were wet, “Ozy is my cousin.” 

Ozy looked up suddenly. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting Kipling to say those words. And just as suddenly as his hazel eyes locked with hers, Kip’s sight became overwhelmed by water. Her entire body in fact. Another portal had opened without her permission. Once again her emotions had wrenched open a hole in the fabric of reality. 

Only this time, she wasn’t asleep.

***

Please let this be a dream. Please let me be dreaming. Please…

Kipling opened her eyes to the sound of someone humming. She saw grass first, then flowers. Daisies. She rolled over and saw endless pink and blue sky.

The humming grew louder.

Kipling sat up and looked around for the source. Across an uneven blanket of hills and daisies, she saw a figure kneeling in the flowers, their back turned to her. Kipling started to get up, but she didn’t need to. Some strange gravity pulled her closer, as if she were riding along an unseen belt.

The humming grew. More figures came into focus. The one kneeling was petting something in their lap. That something was a body. Relaxed and half stretched out on the flowers, their head resting on the leg of the first. 

Kipling blinked. It couldn’t be.

The one horizontal, being stroked by the other, had brown curls that looked dipped in gold dust. Daisies and poppies and baby’s breath scattered about them, catching the light. The head turned to soak up more of that light on their face. Kipling’s heart skipped at the glimpse of their cheek. Their freckled cheek.

“Khleo?” Kip wondered out loud. 

She wondered… and yet she doubted. Kipling looked harder, realizing that body didn’t belong to Khleo. It wasn’t long enough, echoing Kip’s shape more than what she remembered of her friend. And this person’s arms… 

Kip stood up this time. She needed to get a closer look.

“Khleo? Can you hear me?”

The one kneeling looked up. The face of a woman and a lion – Kipling wasn’t sure how it was possible.

You broke a lot of things.

The woman, the lion, the sphinx stood up slowly, lowering Khleo’s head off her lap as she did so. She blocked Kip’s path to her best friend.

You broke things. You came from broken things. Beautiful things. All around you. All broken. 

Kipling didn’t want to look at this creature that just kept getting bigger and scarier and breathing hotly against her face.

And now you expect to touch?

The hum from before was a roar now. The woman’s maw was so sharp and closing fast. 

You will not come here and touch my things. I will not let you. They are mine and they are too beautiful for you to break!

Kipling screamed.

The roar drowned out into a gargle as gallons of seawater rushed in from all sides. Kipling yelped as she was tackled to the left, out of the path of the charging lion. The tunnel of water warped her surroundings. She was leaving that place with the lioness and all the other beautiful things that Kipling wasn’t allowed to touch.

The slap of zero gravity pulled Kipling back to her senses. It was short-lived and soon she was back in the Countess’ tea parlor, holding on tightly to her savior. She didn’t hear Nadia or Asra, so she assumed she and Ozy were alone.

“Ozy?” Kip forced herself to lean back some and look up at him. She couldn’t believe it. He was still not angry with her. 

“So you met Strength? Funny that portal took you there.”

Kip shook her head. “A Major Arcana?”

Ozy smiled gently. “Yes. Khleo’s. Strength can be very uh… territorial over them.”

Kipling took a moment to breathe. Her brows pinched as she turned over Ozy’s words. “Them? What do you mean?”

Ozy playfully tugged on her ghost lock. “Or she.”

Kip scoffed and shook her head. “Ozy, Khleo’s not–”

“Not what, coz?” Ozy dipped his chin. “Different? Didn’t you see her arms? It’s been ten years.”

He let that sink in.

“You, me, Khleo. We’ve changed a lot.” He leaned forward and plucked a cup off the table. “So let’s drink this tea before it gets too cold!”

Ozy took a leisurely sip. And then he smiled too wide, too inappropriate for the occasion.

“Because we need to talk.”

[unicornbitchface]

Raat ki Rani

Pairing: Henry x OFC

Summary: The plot moves ahead. 

No warnings yet.

Beta’d by the lovely @madbaddic7ed​ !

.............................................................................................

Chapter 2

That’s it. 

She was so over it. 

How was it even allowed? 

There had to be some decorum, some sanctity to the institution. Someone had to make it right, and it will have to be her. Enough was enough. 

Bursting through the carved door of the zenana mahal, her eyes searched for the culprit. Today she would make it clear what goes where, and she is not to be trifled with. 

She kept her head low in front of her father, but Damini deserved to be hit for how she talked to their father! What was so wrong about what he said? Rajputana women are to serve their janmabhoomi (motherland) and later her husband’s jaagir (feudal estate). 

And everyone knows, with that tongue no Kunwar would take that disgrace. 

The only use for her is to make sure Father keeps his gold. How is that so bad? 

Worse than wearing men’s clothes to Meena Bazaar? 

Kite flying with locals like an imbecile? 

Running around like a bloody camel in the palace?

Pranks on the Generals, priests and the guests without a care for her stature?

Surely not.

There she was, giggling with the kids, up to no good as always!

“Damu!” Revati roared. 

The mischief in those almond eyes could not be hidden, not that Damini would ever try to. Their eyes met, and she walked to her elder sister with a poise that would put peacocks to shame. 

“Khamba Ghani bai sa! How can I help you?” 

Smack.

Head to the side, Damini’s insides fumed at the atrocious insult. Fire consumed her when she looked back at her sister. But before she could say anything, Revati had her hands on her ear as she dragged her to the chambers.

“Bai sa! It hurts, ow, stop!”

Revati was silent until they reached her room and spun Damini around making her fall near the bed.

“What is wrong with you, Damu? Why are you so hell-bent on soiling your father's name and reputation all the time? Are you not his ward? Do you not love him? If not any of that, please tell me you at least hold remorse!”

“Remorse for what, Bai sa? Of course, I love him but he clearly doesn’t love me” A lone tear escaped the lioness, her heart squeezing in waste, for a relationship that won’t exist beyond a mention in history books. 

“What was so wrong about what he said? You get to save the maan of our ancestors! You get to maintain your old life while helping Father! You should consider this an honour and-”

Damini stood up and walked to her sister, “I spit on such honour. If it’s so glorious, why don’t you warm his bed? I am sure you don’t miss your husband anyway!”

Revati stood there, speechless. She had no words for the indecency her sister had unfolded without hesitation. 

“Do you know what you are saying? I cannot. I am bound to my husband. I have taken vows, and I shall not bring shame to his name. Never.”

Smirking and raising an eyebrow, Damini shot another crude arrow towards Revati, “Cannot? Shall not? So you mean to say you would if you could?” 

The silence and red cheeks gave her what she needed to know. 

“You haven’t seen him. You are lucky to have a specimen like that in your bed. He has blue eyes, Damu and looks like a foreign God, here to ravish and ravage. He is a Lord you know? That means he is almost in our ranks. He must have lands, and his pockets must be overflowing with gold!” Hands to her chest, Revati’s breaths were close to being shallow and her eyes were dazed/had a faraway look to them.

Damini never understood this weird fawning that women did over certain men. She has seen women literally drool over their choli and panting like parched animals. 

Weird. 

“Brown hair, those curls! When he looks at you, oh those ice cold eyes! Time freezes and you feel a strange fire consume you, pooling in your gut, giving you these ideas that would put apsaras to shame. I haven’t seen him smile yet, but it will be brighter than the sunrise on the highest hills of our kingdom! I’m sure of it! And those muscles Damu! His angrezi trousers barely fit him and oh how the mighty muscles might rip it to shreds. Hmm, and you have to see his shoulders ! Broader than my husband’s best swords, imagine-”

Damini cleared her throat loudly, and said, “Look, I have no interest in that buffoon even if he had 3 eyes, 4 limbs and walked on bloody water! Just leave me alone, and you can continue with your weird fantasy in private, thank you!”

As Damini was leaving,  Revati grabbed her. 

“You will have to bend over for the bright future of Junagarh, little sister. Save the fire and use it in his bed because Father is not going to let this go. You know his penchant for gold Damu. We need that to keep the God at our doorstep satisfied. Think of yourself as a sacrifice! Don’t we sacrifice goats in Dussera? This is not much different. Appease him Damu, and he will shower blessings on our kingdom. You know we need it! 

 Do it by your own will, or you shall be delivered, hands and legs bound. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you know what is the better option, hm?”

Smart girl?

Smarter than you think sister. 

**************************************

Meanwhile, Lord Cavill was ready to rip his hair out. How has this country survived for so long? You call these jokers ministers? Oh, dear God.

After the first meeting, the Maharaja had insisted that the British envoy must meet and greet with the ministers to get a better understanding of their system. The Lord had reluctantly agreed, after all, he was sent here to keep an eye on the state and its keeper.

While a few tried to speak in English, most of the meeting was held via translation services offered by Mount General, Kulwant Singh. Honestly, Cavill would never get the measure of this odd human. He surely was not intimidated, but this man left him uncomfortable.

Cavill was busy analysing this giant’s diet and lifestyle, wondering how he became what he is. It was a result of mere boredom and not due to any frivolous intrigue. Just as Cavill hid a yawn about to escape, a voice grabbed his attention.

“Long live Cavill Saab, I, Bikram Rajawat, minister of the esteemed court, have a few proposals to put forth. May I?”

Cavill waved him to continue.

“As My Lord must be aware, our lands are arid causing water shortages. The lands beyond the capital need wells, sir. It is hard to-”

Cavill, leaned forward on the cushioned chair, eyes darting to the familiar voice of the Maharaja as he spoke.

“Rajawat! That is enough. I am sure Cavill Saab does not need to be bothered with trivial issues. He must focus on the bigger picture, am I right, sir?” Ganga asked meekly.

“And by bigger, do you mean the palace you want the money for, Mr Singh?”

Chuckling awkwardly, the Maharaja replied, “I am a representative of the subjects my lord! My standard of living reflects on their prosperity. The palace would function as an object of pride for every citizen of my raj.”

“Not your raj, The British Raj.”

Everyone stood up faster than the lightning, swords drawn, ready to get bloody.

“EXCUSE ME?”

Cavill looked around the room and took a breath. These ignorant fools have no idea what they signed up for.

He chuckled at the thought of their possible reactions to his heavy-handed revelations.

“Have you read the treaty, Maharaja Ganga Singh? Have you truly read it?”

Furious by his tone, Bikram yelled, “You are talking to a King, Lord Cavill. I suggest you watch your tone. An insult to him is an insult to the entire court!”

“Respectfully minister, he might be your king and you are allowed to feel so, but I am not talking to a King. When I stand here as an officer from the company, I talk to the WARD of Britain. Not a King, not a Maharaja.”

There was pin-drop silence as Cavill rose from his seat. It was time to show them how things are going to work from now on.

“I suggest you take your seats, honourable ministers and you too Mr Singh. I must clarify that I do not intend to hurl any sort of an insult at anybody. I am merely stating the facts.” Looking at Kulwant, he could only hope for a fair translation. The language was another thing he had to master if he was going to stay here.

His face contorted in distaste as he thought of learning this primitive language, an utter waste of his time.

He pushed those thoughts aside and continued once the ministers had sat back down.

“The British are paying for all of this to be maintained as it were. We are supportive of your lifestyle and would like to see you flourish. However, this is not a charity. The use of our resources need to be monitored, and we are here to provide advice and guidance you all will only benefit further from.” 

The Maharaja nodded and agreed with the envoy. However, he still felt discomfort at his earlier tone. He somehow needed this buffoon under his control, and his only ticket seemed to be Damini. 

That wretched fool. He had a lot of work to do. 

Ganga looked at the Lord and wondered if stoking lust would fetch him anything. There was certainly no harm in trying. 

“Ahem, I would like to extend an invitation to you, good sir. I would like to hold a feast in your honour in the evening. It would be an honour to have you present! This way you get to meet my family and my successor Maan Singh as well.”

A native party? Really? Lord Cavill groaned internally at the thought of fake pleasantries yet responded, “I don’t engage in a lot of social commitments Mr Singh, but I suppose I cannot say no to a feast organised in my honour. I shall be there.”

“So, now that we know what our roles are, I would like to see your proposal for the wells Bikram Singh. I think it will benefit the people and help our taxes in return. There are a few other proposals I would like to work on, so I am requesting you to be prepared with your plans. Include expenditure, time, labour and other needs in detail. Take notes from your Maharaja, as his notes were flawless for the palace plan.”

The court missed his cheekiness and was genuinely impressed by the king’s efforts.

Ganga Singh puffed his chest in pride and got lost in the praise.

Interesting. The king was not hard to read, and Cavill knew what had to be done now.

Ha! A piece of cake.

Previous chapter

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Hindi terms:

Khamba Ghani: Rajasthani salutation and a way to say hello. 

Apsara: celestial nymphs 

Angrezi: English, used commonly to describe any kind of foreign objects, beliefs etc, but mostly rooted in British connotation. 

Maharaja: King 

Dussera: A festival celebrated in India, to honor the various forms of Hindu goddesses. It goes on for 10 days, each day for a particular goddess, and on the 8th day, Goddess Kali is worshiped. Some followers believe in sacrificing animals as a tribute to please her. 

Tags:

@madbaddic7ed @henrythickcavill @toomanyfandomsshreya @inana999 @maximumninjavoid @mistress-of-ward

[aweebwrites]

Monsoon

Here you go @thelucariosfish!

_________

In the tall, tan grass of the dry savanna laid a seemingly sunbathing Cheetah, camouflaged almost completely thanks to the fur that covered most of his body. The darker spots and even the messy chestnut hair the big cat had didn't hinder his ability to remain camouflaged at all. In fact, these aided him to fit into the earth tones of the dry savanna. While the sun felt good soaking into the demi human's skin, he had his eyes focused on the small group of gazelles grazing in the dry grass nearby. They seemed to have arrived earlier than expected for the rainy season. Jay could hardly wait himself. It's been hard finding a water hole to keep hydrated under the intense heat of the sun, especially with the lions and stronger animals than he hogging it all for themselves. Jay watched as a gazelle strayed from the group, his tail flicking eagerly as he wanted for the right time to strike.

Given that he was on his own and finding territory was hard, worse to find a watering hole, he decided to do the most foolish thing any cheetah, demi-human or not could do… He decided to try and talk to a lion. Bigger, fiercer, angrier cats than he. Even a female could take him down easily if they somehow got their paws on him. But what choice did he have when his adoptive parents had passed from old age? The old hyenas had taught him as much as they could about life as a cheetah through their experiences with them. He wasn't used to being in the norm anyway. He had to do what he can to survive. Of course he steered clear of the baser lions and headed for a small group of demi-human lions. In fact, it was so small of a group that was only two persons. A lion and a lioness. That didn't mean that the sole lion with a dark mane, borderline red didn't pounce on him immediately, snarling at him as he held him down with his large paws.

The gazelle strayed farther from the herd and closer to him. He licked his lips as he tightened his crouch, ready to pounce. The gazelle wandered even farther from the herd and even closer to the waiting predator. Finally, Jay saw his opening and shot out, startling the gazelle into a run as the others rushed away for safety. Jay was on its tail, keeping up no problem as he worked on getting closer. He kept up with each sudden turn to try and throw him off, paws beating roughly against the dry plains as he kept going. He was starting to get tired through, felt it in his muscles with each fast step of his paws. The gazelle started to gain distance. Jay smirked as he chased it still. He may be getting tired but that gazelle wasn't about to get away. He darted left before the gazelle could, keep it right in the right path. They were approaching even more tall grass.

Suddenly, the lion and lioness jumped out of the grass roaring at the gazelle and startling it, leaving it to skid as it tried to change direction. That was all the opening Jay needed. He pounced at the gazelle from behind, sinking his claws into its hide and biting into its back. Before the gazelle could think about trying to escape, it had the thick fangs of the lion in its neck, the lioness helping Jay hold it down. Suddenly, the lion jerks back, snapping the gazelle's neck and securing their meal. Both Jay and the lioness held onto the gazelle as the life left it then only relaxed a bit once it was still.

"For a second there, I thought you were losing your game." Kai says then licked the blood away from his thick fangs.

"So you think." Jay huffed as he pulled back, licking the claws.

"We don't have time to chat. The hyenas will be here any second now." Nya says with annoying, the lioness sniffling along the animal's back then picking a spot to sink her fangs into.

Both lion and cheetah shared a look before joining her, enjoying their catch. By the time the hyenas do arrive, they've eaten almost everything already, leaving nothing back but scraps and an occasional bite of meat. They walked away from the more primitive versions of the hyenas, letting them fight over their leftovers as they headed towards their shared den about a mile back. It was a shallow cave located in the side of a small, rocky hill and was their shared home for the past three months. Jay recalled fondly when he came here, directly to their home to discuss. 

_

The angry lion with burning brown eyes looked down at the cheetah with a snarl, thick fangs on display as his paws pressed heavily into the cheetah's shoulders. Everything in Jay screamed to run but to run was certain death in the near future. So he pushed past instincts and spoke.

'H-hey! No need for the hostility! I'm friendly! I promise!' Jay says and the lion squinted down at him, his growls only quietening slightly.

'What do you want?' The lioness' voice was low, clipped and cold as she walked over on her hind legs, her fur slightly darker than the average lion, almost matching the reddish brown of the lion's mane.

'Uh. Could you uh, let up a bit first?' Jay asked the lion nervously and his snarl was a clear no.

'Talk or you'll become lunch.' The lioness says impatiently and Jay winced once the lion's grip on his shoulders tightened.

'Ok! Ok!' Jay was quick to surrender then swallowed. 'I want to join your pride.' He managed to say as seriously as he could.

Both lions paused, sharing a look to see if they heard the same thing- the large lion over him made his first humane sound: he laughed. Loud and hard. Jay tried not to let himself get angry but the parts of his spotted face not covered by fur was getting red with his irritation.

'Are you done?' Jay asked drily after a while and the lioness started to laugh too, realising that he was serious.

This only rubbed Jay even more raw. Was he really that laughable as a cheetah for them to completely turn his offer down like this? He had always been different from the few baser and demi cheetahs he's come across before but he hadn't thought the difference would be so much for these two to all out laugh at his face… If that's the case then… He can kiss the promise he made to his adoptive parents about staying alive goodbye.

'You can't be serious.' The lion finally spoke around a laugh and Jay glared stubbornly at the larger male.

'So what if I am?' He asked, tilting his chin up stubbornly.

'Oh he really is serious.' The lioness says with light amusement in her voice.

'Last time I checked, you were a cheetah.' The lion pointed out.

'Yeah? So what of it?' Jay asked and the lion blinked at him then leveled him with an unimpressed look.

'What do you even mean. You're a cheetah. We're lions. Only lions can join prides and you aren't one. Either way, we're fine on our own.' The lion says and Jay frowned.

'But isn't hunting with just two of you harder? I could help! I'm super fast!' Jay prepositioned and the lions shared a look again.

'And what makes you think you have what it takes to hunt with us? If you need to seek unhelpful or protection or whatever, what good are you to us? You'll only drag us down. And even so, we don't need anyone else in our pride and that's that.' The lion says then let up the cheetah. 'Now scram before I change my mind.' The lion says with an aggravated growl.

Jay got to all fours, thinking quickly. He can't let this opportunity pass him. He has to convince them somehow.

'I'll prove I can be useful-'

'Look. We know the only reason you're here is because you want something from us. Not that you want to join us.' The lioness says, crossing her arms as she flicked her tail back and forth. 'What is it? Territory? Prey? Water? Pro- oh.' She stopped once she spotted the visible tense in Jay's body language once she mentioned water.

'So it's water, huh? Of course.' The lioness chuckled. 'This deep into the dry season, a waterhole with water still is a blessing for any creature.' She says then huffed.

'I'm surprised you didn't just bypass us completely and drank your fill. What? Want to settle down? Too bad. We aren't too keen on sharing out territory.' The lion went from amused to threatening.

Jay's situation was going south quickly. He had to think, and fast. He looked around quickly then looked back at them both then paused, looking at their fur.

'But you do need help hunting.' Jay insisted, regaining his courage, keeping his grin off his face when they looked struck. 'Just let me try for a while. I'm not intrusive! You won't see me around at all outside of helping you guys hunt and defending the territory. I promise!' He pleaded and both lion and lioness paused, sharing a look.

The lion gave him a long, hard look before stepping aside and have a hushed conversation with the lioness. Jay took the chance to rub at his shoulders carefully with his paws that were roughened from the harsh ground of the savanna. He was nervous. Their answer could mean life or death for him… He tensed once they turned back to him then swallowed on their approach. The lion lifted his paw and Jay flinched- but then blinked once the lion extended a paw for him to take.

'We'll see what use you have to us. But if we decide to send you away, you better leave without a fight.' The lion says aggressively.

Jay couldn't help but beam, taking the large paw and allowed him to help him to his hind legs.

'Alright! I will!' The cheetah says excitedly, flicking his tail back and forth.

'Your trial starts now.' The lioness says, gesturing to the outside and Jay nodded, already full of energy and food.

He could get them a gazelle or a zebra no problem!

'Oh. And by the way, I'm Kai.' The lion says and Jay blinked up at his cocky fanged grin, finding himself taking in his whiskered face, his intelligent eyes, his-

'And I'm Nya.' The lioness says, crossing her strong arms over her chest.

Jay looked between both powerful lion demi-humans then grinned.

'I'm Jay!'

_

That was where their partnership began. It wasn't easy for Jay. They worked him to the bone but he wasn't willing to give up. It took almost a month before he was allowed to eat with them and even more before he could share their den. They've gotten really close over the entire time period however. They groomed each other and worked together as their own strange pride. They've got a lot of strange looks from other demi-humans while the baser versions of their kind chalked it up to odd demi-human behaviour. But they worked. They fit. They become family. And Jay? Well… He long felt right at home.

All three cats looked up once thunder sounded, seeing dark clouds forming overhead.

"Well well. The monsoon is here. Finally." Jay says as they walked together, a smirk on his face.

"Monsoon?..." Kai asked confused, tilting his head to the side.

"It's a human term. It's a fancier way of saying the rainy season." Jay explained.

"You sure do know a lot about the human language." Nya says, glancing across at him as they continued their way home.

It was almost suspicious but Jay had explained that his adoptive parents were hyenas that had been helped by humans before. The human language was taught to all demi-humans by their parents and their parents before them. While what they knew may be a bit outdated, it allowed demi-humans to communicate more effectively and to understand more clearly the intentions of humans. Even though they understood and spoke the human language, it was a well kept secret from the humans that they did know it. It was an advantage no demi-human was willing to let go. All the humans knew was that they could learn it if necessary. They tend to do that with more domesticated demi-humans after all.

"I only know so much. I don't like humans very much though. It's hard to tell their intentions. They twist their words and most of them hunt us." Jay says with a frown.

"Yeah…" Both Kai and Nya says quietly, leaving Jay to frown.

Did he accidentally say something bad? Before he could even think to ask, a drip of water fell on his nose. He looked up then pressed his ears flat against his head once the drop turned to drizzle.

"Oh no!" Kai yelled then took off running.

"Huh? Hey wait!" Jay yelled, running after him, keeping up with the larger lion with ease.

They made it to the cave in the nick of time, rain pouring down seconds later as thunder rolled.

"You're really particular about water, aren't you?" Jay says, amused and Kai blinked at him mid lick of his paw. "Meaning, you don't like being covered in water." He clarified.

"Water isn't my thing. It's Nya's." Kai says as he turned around and looked out of the shallow cave.

Jay looked out too then blinked to see Nya standing there on her hind legs, taking in the rain, letting it wash over her, a smile on her face. She looked really happy… Kai laid down on his stomach then began licking his rough tongue against his paw. Jay joined him, laying beside the larger lion and licking at his mane. Sure, that meant he was guaranteed to get a hairball later but he knew how much Kai was proud of his mane. He wanted to help as much as he could. Anyway, it was a really unique and attractive mane… All spiky and standing up rather than down. Things were quiet for a while, even after Jay had finished helping Kai groom himself. They watched as Nya flopped over on her back, not caring that she was getting muddy, laughing to herself as she enjoyed the heavy downpour. Jay found himself smiling.

She really did look happy.

"Hey Jay…" The cheetah looked across at the lion as he watched his sister still.

Jay had thought for a while that they were a more intimate pair and received the yelling of a lifetime.

"Yeah, what's up?" Jay asked, tail flicking back and forth curiously.

"... Now that the rains are back… You'll stay here with us still… Right?... You won't… Abandon us too… Right?" Kai asked him softly, a look of pain crossing his face.

"Too?" Jay whispered to himself, wondering who had left them before.

The cheetah's breath caught however, remembering that the only reason he came to them was for their watering hole. Did they think after all this time he spent with them, knowing them, becoming one of them, apart of their family that… That he would up and leave that behind? No way.

"Of course not. It could rain forever and I'd stay right here with you guys. You guys are family, you know?" Jay says with a fond smile, looking out as Nya squirmed around on her back, paws up in the air.

Kai looked across at Jay, at his eyes that flashed with the lightning. They were as beautiful as they were deadly. A smile tugged at Kai's lips. Family huh. Jay blinked, his eyes widening as his cheeks reddened when Kai's tail caught his flickering one, coiling around it. He looked at Kai with those wide eyes and the lion only gave him a soft smirk before shifting closer, pressing his body right up against the cheetah. Kai nuzzled the smaller cat then licked at his cheek before settling, leaving Jay to lay there tensely, his cheeks red and his heart beating a mile a minute. What was this… He… Jay relaxed himself as he smiled softly, his heart warming as he rested against the warm mass of Kai. He was always so warm, like the sun…

Jay took a moment to wonder if the reason he was never this close with him was because he was afraid he'd leave. He didn't think too much into it, choosing to nuzzle against the warm fur of his mane instead, a purr leaving him as he closed his eyes. Kai smiled then closed his eyes too, taking in the sound of rain and the feeling of Jay next to him. Somewhere along the line, the odd cheetah got under his defences, under his skin and made himself home. From his odd jokes, to his energy filled nature, to his gorgeous features and more. But he was so hesitant to get as close as he had wanted to. Not when the dry season was coming to an end. Not when the sole reason for Jay coming into their lives would leave. But now… Knowing he wouldn't leave them… Leave him… He burrows his nose into the curly brown hair of the cheetah, taking in his scent with a content purr of his own.

This monsoon felt like a little taste of heaven.

______________

(Not the fic I had in mind to post but a fic nonetheless! I really need to get back into the one-shot scene but bet your bottom dollar I ain't done with this fic. A new series? Very likely. Highly doubt it'll have regular updates right now but in a month or so. Thanks for reading!)

[sarissophori]

Hither Yonder, Chapter 5

The Wild Roads

Halli awoke soon after sunrise, roused by the warming air and ground. She stirred, still sore from the night’s run and the fall that ended it. She sat up stiffly and listened for a while. Aside the pleasant sighing of boughs in the morning wind and distant bird calls the forest was silent, serene. She no longer feared capture, overtly at least, and took time to eat some of Sador’s provisions before starting off again. Climbing out of the ditch, she consulted the map as to her course. The Irdon forest, as it was named, stretched off west and south along the slopes of the Adorn mountains, the spine of Dumbria, running with them for many miles before ending at a sundered range called the South Spur, which formed the mountain-gap watched over by the fortress of Lake Tirgon. Rather than going immediately south-west and risk becoming lost in the forest, Halli went due-west toward the mountains, where she thought to have a sure marker to follow beside. Using any roads as a runaway slave was not an option.

      This was the first course of her journey. Two days she spent walking into, then through, the heart of the forest, the mountains ever before her. The land rose gradually for the most part, then more so as she neared the pine and spruce-covered foothills of the range, rising in folds of green up and up to the bare flanks of the mountains proper, cloven by dales and valleys sheltered between rocky arms. Halli now went southerly west, on ground high enough to see down the surrounding lands, but low enough to avoid steeper terrain that would only hinder her.  Away back east, in the fading light, she thought she could almost see the topmost battlements of Thargorod tiny and black on the far horizon, and thought of Sador and Siri in that moment. She wondered what punishment they stood to suffer because of her escape, if it would end with them. Here on the third day, more than on the previous two, the weight of her actions pressed on her shoulders as keenly as her roll-kit, and it was brought to her, concisely, what it would mean to be alone and to carry on. The sun set, leaving her under a blanket of night and stars.

 The fourth day unfolded very much like the others; calm, boring even, in the shade of tall and ancient trees high enough to shut out the world beyond the forest. The air was scented with pine sap when the wind came in from the west. Northward, it smelled crisp from the mountain airs. Her aloneness was so apparent, the fear of being found completely left her.

      By late afternoon Halli came to the source-waters of the Olgon River, the largest in Dumbria; a river she crossed once before, when the wagon train carrying her and Yuta rolled past its lowland fords to Thargorod. Here she refilled her water-skin, for it was fresh from the mountain springs, and stood about to take in her surroundings. The Olgon roared and splashed down bare stony banks worn smooth by its tide, falling downhill as rapids through ravines into the deeper forest. The foam glinted in the sunlight. The mountains were to her right, marching onward out of sight, catching the sky on their peaks as if they alone suspended it, keeping the separation of heaven and earth. The trees, clustered among the rocks, swayed in the mildest breeze, and she breathed it in.

      Downstream from her, near the brink of the rapids, an ibex emerged from the trees and trotted to the river, fairly large, with great curved horns. Halli crouched low and watched him drink before deciding this an opportune time to test her bow. She unfurled her roll-kit and pulled it out slowly, bending it to notch the string. She had an arrow ready when she saw, lying stealthily on a shelf overlooking the bank, a mountain lioness in wait from above, her hind legs tensed for a jump. She sprang from her rocky perch and landed squarely on the ibex, who collapsed from the attack. He kicked and bleated, but she pinned him with a bite to the windpipe as he fought, then feebly writhed, then stilled. There was rustling in the trees behind; his pack heard his calls and bolted, bounding up to the safety of the steeper slopes. The lioness looked at Halli, who stood awestruck with her arrow slacked impotently on its string, suddenly feeling like prey herself.

       “The kill is yours. I offer no contest.”

      The lioness hauled her meal back into the wood, toward her mountain den undoubtedly nearby. That in mind, Halli crossed the shallow arm of the river by the spring and continued on her way.

 Halli walked on in caution for the remaining day and those thereafter, while the forest lasted. Her bow was out, and she made a nightly shelter to help shield her from predatory eyes. Her guard lessened, however, when the forest began to open out, the hills only partly covered. Shrubs took advantage and grew in bunches in the glades, those that flowered and those that prickled. Ivy curled through them here and there, and little rodents scurried.

      Nine days after entering the Irdon, the forest’s bulk finally thinned out to a few solitary pines along tumbled lands, and Halli could see the plains below. To the immediate south ran a separate range of hills, green and roving, the peaks grayish-brown and bare; the South Spur, a bulwark of rock across the neck of Dumbria. Just before her, a league away and beside the hills, was the fortress of Tirgon, unceasing in its watch of the plains. Calvary was afield in exercises, and white smokes wafted from the chimneys of barracks. There were no trains of slaves today, but Halli knew many more had come this way since she and Yuta went through its gates that summer long ago; Hananin from the steppes and the Kundish Mounds, and others from Ipsaria, Doria and beyond from Wilderland to the north. Halli backed into the sparse protection of Irdon’s westernmost reaches and went on her way, nursing blunted fantasies of revenge against that hated fortress.

        Halli followed the flanks of a great shoulder in the range that hid her from the fortress, and down she went into the lower hills. Here Lake Tirgon sat against the mountains, buffered by a narrow and rocky land populated with holly bushes, beds of dry grasses and rough thickets. Trees were sparse, and were old and stunted. Nevertheless, this was Halli’s road as she chose it. The only other way, across the plains south of the lake, would mean almost certain capture while the cavalry was out.

      She scrambled down the slopes and into a defile, going along ground that alternated between sandy, gravely, rocky, and sandy again. Her bare feet were sore before much trudging, yet on she went, walking through what grass she could find, stopping only a few times to rest. The lake at least was a beautiful bluish-gray, spanning many leagues south and west, ruffled by spouts of wind, otherwise reflecting mirror-like the mountain tips under a sapphire sky. The risk of exposure in this landscape was plain to her, but she took solace in one thing: there were no trails along Tirgon’s north banks, meaning this part of the mountains were seldom visited by the Dumbrians, maybe their soldiers too, despite the presence of their fortress. Halli certainly hoped it.

 For two and a half days Halli plodded through that strip of waste, her palms, knees and soles callused by the rocks, and white from a chalky powder that coated the boulders and pebbly expanses. By noon she came to the eaves of the Farrow Wood, and her spirits lightened, not only because it meant an end to this unpleasant land, but also because past the woods was the West Reach, the extent of Dumbria’s borders. The borders of her own country were near.

      The difference between the Farrow Wood and the mountain waste was abrupt. Up a few shelves of layered rock hung the roots of the outermost trees, stout and gnarled, at least by the lake. Further on, Halli saw taller, leaner trees as the land became less stony further west. She delighted in feeling the softer grasses under her feet again and decided to make camp early, resting and sleeping a long while.

      Halli remained in the forest’s northern marches, to keep the mountains at her side. Then, after nearly fifteen days of constant hiking within the shadow of the Ardon range, over lands easy and difficult, they began to run down into a descent, hilly with many valleys, to the adjacent lowlands of the Hananin Steppes. The forest ended, and the Ardon sank into gentle rises. Here sprawled the West Reach, the beginning of the expansive, near featureless grasslands of inner Hinterland, bare under the noontime sun. Flatness, with subtle rolls, went off as far as the eye could see, except to the north where the Morrow Wood lay, a line of green against the wheat-color of the plains, and the Kundish Mounds further on. In the north, too, were brooding cloud fronts gray with rain, as colder airs from Wilderland mingled with warmer airs from the Sea of Ahn, rising to cumulus towers black-bottomed and foreboding, as far as they were. But this was not Halli’s road. From the eaves of Farrow, she turned south in a gradual meander westward, and came after a few day’s march under the Hinterland sun to the old Imperial Road.

        The Road was built ages ago by the auxiliary legions of the Tarmaril Imperium in the years of its greatest extent, to connect the conquered lands with the mother-kingdom; to speed trade, culture, and the armies not the least. In those times the Imperial Road extended unbroken from the Sheerim Mountains to the gates of Tirgon, was tended to by a dedicated legion, and was punctuated every twenty miles with manmade watering holes. Every forty miles, or every other watering hole, was a courier station with inns, stables, and a fortified garrison.

      In these later times, the Road was little more than an overgrown track of stones choked by weeds and grass, covered over entirely in some sections, marked along its way by the ruins of those courier stations and reed-studded pools frequented more by wildlife than any rider, much less a cavalry of thousands. Decay and disuse aside, the Road was not completely abandoned. After Tarmaril’s fall and the decline of Dumbria, the Hananin reclaimed their country and took from the Road what purpose they could find for it: irrigation ditches were dug to drain the watering holes for farmland, then blocked up for the spring rains to fill again, then drained as before. Stones were removed from the crumbling garrisons to build bridges and homes, though not from the Road itself. The Road was never repaired to its first glory, but parts of its length between villages were tended to and cleared, especially those parts near the Hills of Hanan and Lake Onu, where Hanan’s chief villages lay.

 So Halli went west, following a way as sure as the mountains, though subtler. However, she walked along beside it at a distance, staying in the long grass; the threat of Dumbrian raiders still patrolling the West Reach was too great to ignore, making it unwise for her to travel directly on the Road. She remained a furlong’s breadth away day and night, far enough to dart and hide in the grass if need be.

      And on she walked, and walked. The miles were covered in good pace, but there were many of them, each identical to the last. The occasional acacia tree was approached and passed, Halli using its dry, umbrella-like canopy for the shade it offered against the relentless sun when she rested, maybe twice a day for eating, seldom at length. She also came by several watering holes, or delves in the ground where one once was. They were brackish and warm, gathered over by birds and beasts; wild oxen and kingfishers, caribou and white flamingos migrating from the wetlands of Ahn. Even if she wished to use them, she doubted room would be made for her through their herds with so many young about, and under watch. Worse, the banks would be horribly muddy and mucked with filth by their tramping, making her think better of it than wasting one of Sador’s purifying tablets. And on she walked.

 There was no marker or indicator to show where the West Reach ended and Hanan proper began, besides the words on her map. Halli guessed she was close; the lands here, hardly distinguishable to a traveler, were familiar to her as a local. She knew these fields. Her village was near here. As if to remind her of her present danger, not far off the Road was the site of a small homestead of yurts and tents. Their remnants, at least. Halli dared approach for a closer look. Burnt, brittle timbers and torn cloth were strewn everywhere. The people and their flocks were gone, the ground gouged and scorched in places. A few arrows stood staggered in the grass. This was not a fresh scene of massacre, however. The pillaging of this homestead was months ago, the bones of the slain picked clean by scavengers and carrion fowl.

      Halli stood silent a moment, then pressed her hands together and bowed low, speaking softly and backing away. In Hananin tradition, a place of murder not purified remained unclean, and perilous for the living to trespass. This site would remain unclean for a long time yet, and Halli, in a mix of reverence and wariness, dared not disturb the uneasy sleep of the ill-rested.

 Halli moved on, with no other sign of Dumbrian menace for the day’s remainder, or much of the next. She noticed that game was starting to become scarce around the watering holes, and that her food supplies were running low. Before she lost the chance, Halli camped by one of the pools and, after a short stalk, shot a heron through the reeds. She spent precious hours plucking the carcass and preparing a modest fire, gutting the entrails (an old chore she hadn’t really missed) and holding it suspended for the blood to drain, but it would be worth it. A good catch earns a good preparation, she remembered her barn’s caretaker telling her, and a good catch it was. Aside what she would eat today, there would still be enough to last her three or so more days, if she rationed it so.

      Just as the bird was ready for spitting, Halli looked behind her shoulder to see a thin black line on the Road, growing to become a rank of black forms in the twilit evening. In the stillness, she heard the beat of hooves and the snorting of horses. It was Dumbrian cavalry, and they were riding fast, in her direction. Halli quickly blotted the fire and darted into the reeds, leaving her catch in the open.

      The troop of horsemen, twenty with their captain, steered their horses to where they saw the faint wisp of smoke spied from afar, and dismounted to investigate. Halli watched them while hidden away. The captain sifted through the cinders with his boot, giving the plucked bird a kick into the soot. The rest ambled about, scanning the ground for clues to this riddle. Some murmured and pointed to imprints in the grass. They were fresh, meaning the one who made them, and made the meal, was nearby –but the light was fast fading, and Halli was well hid. They paced the spot a few more times, then as the stars outshone the slender gleam of orange against the west, they remounted and continued down the Road, leaving their riddle unsolved. What was one lowly Hananin vagabond to them? Their job was to scout the outer fields and return to Tirgon, and return they would. They galloped off in speed, leaving as swiftly as they approached.

      Halli waited until the thudding of hooves was gone before coming out, checking over what was to be dinner and extra rations. It was dirty but salvageable, were she bold enough to start another fire. She risked her luck terribly already with the first, and decided not to again. Instead she resumed walking, feeling more secure in the cover of dark, wanting to put as many miles as she could between herself and the reach of Dumbria before the night ended.

 On the days went, drawn, hot and trudging as before, with one noticeable change: the northerly thunderheads ever present against the horizon rolled down in haste on a southern gale, darkening the afternoon. Halli was relieved at first by the sun’s veiling, despite the thunder booming overhead, and welcomed the rain. She held her water-skin open to collect some of it, and it poured, and it blew. Then, it hailed. Halli wrapped her cloak tightly about herself and hunkered down, muttering as she was pelted, watching through her hood as the plains were pelted with little stinging balls of ice, waiting for it to pass. That was how the rest of that day went, shifting between rain and hail till early evening, when Halli found a battered acacia tree to sleep under. The night proved cold in her dampened cloak, her only protection against the wind. Come morning, she would welcome the humid sun.

 Then, on the fourteenth day since leaving the Adorn range, Halli saw the rising shapes of the Hills of Hanan in the distance, and her heart lifted at the sight. An afternoon’s march, and she would come to villages outside Dumbria’s reach (she hoped) who could help her, refresh and restock her, give her rest and a little friendship. She was sick of being alone. By late afternoon she was at the Hill’s eastern ends, and wandered to the southern slopes toward Lake Onu blue and placid, crowded in by pockets of forest.

      Halli looked on and frowned. The villages scattered across its banks appeared empty. She investigated each in turn, walking the dirt tracks branching to and off the Road openly, if cautiously. Long lanes ran beside tilled farmlands between fingers of forest, prepared for the planting season. The fields were abandoned, as were the villages; home, hut and barn. The livestock were also gone. Halli didn’t think this the work of Dumbrian raiders coming to collect slaves for Thargorod’s markets; none of the buildings were looted or torched, none of the fields ravaged. It was as if every villager to the last child had simply vanished.

       Not quite. They had fled, and taken their livestock with them. News of incursions from the West Reach would have spread far and wide soon after the initial raids that took Halli and Yuta as spoils. That was almost a year ago. So the Hananin, most being semi-nomadic, gathered their livelihoods and mobile goods, and dispersed to wherever hope or safety led them within the Hinterlands, be it north to the eaves of Wilderland, or south to Kundanar, with whom they had a common ancestry. Anything that could be resown, rebuilt, or replaced was left where it was.

      Halli lingered among the ghost towns, partly wanting to scavenge what supplies she could yet find, partly because she wanted to believe that they weren’t as empty as they seemed; that she might still find someone to give her tidings, or just talk to her. She peered into the houses, even exploring inside them, but saw only field mice nibbling on crumbs, and a few broken jars. The docks on Lake Onu were bare, moored with empty fishing rafts. Finding nothing else, Halli took some water from the wells for her water-skin, and continued on.

 Westward on from the Hills of Hanan, the Imperial Road slanted a little north while keeping its heading, still dotted by watering holes, still watched over by crumbling outposts. The days were consistently bright and sunny without the threat of rain, a monotonous continuum of sunrise and sunset, with all the hours blurring into a plodding haze. Halli reckoned she was getting rather good at solitary marching, and even better at food rationing.

      Before the Hills fell from sight, the long grasses gave way to shorter prairie ones, then failed altogether. The lands got tougher, with pasture shrubs becoming thistle thickets and other hardy weeds, and the occasional wildflower grove. Animal herds were sparse to nonexistent –though vultures could at times be seen wheeling about hither and yon, gliding on the high winds in a perpetual search for carrion. Now and again, Halli heard their lonely cries.

      So came and went another eleven days; but on the morning of the twelfth, she saw rising suddenly over the flats of Hanan, purple in the wan light of dawn, the rugged peaks of the Sheerim Mountains, the border separating the Hinterlands from the Hither. Taller and mightier than the Adorn range, The Sheerim, where Halli stood, spread out in a great arc stretching north and south, falling with the bend of the horizon to immeasurable leagues. Though it didn’t mean an end to her journey, Halli was glad to see some change, any change, to the landscape, even if it was an obstacle so great, it suffered no rival formation this side of the world. As the map showed, it spanned over five hundred miles arm to arm, nearly sundering the two halves of the western continent. This would mean two-hundred and fifty miles just to go around, no matter which way she took –more months of joyless wandering, if not for one curious feature: right through the middle of the range was an opening in the mountains, called the Mistgap, which offered itself, on paper, as a most convenient shortcut. Halli didn’t have the rations to last going around the mountains, nor the patience at this point. It was either risk an unknown way, or possible starvation. As far as she made out, there wasn’t really a choice to be discerned. Besides, the Imperial Road continued right on up to the Mistgap on the map, and so maybe went through it as well. She put her faith in that.                        

[dailybiblelessons]

Thursday: Preparation for the Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Complementary Hebrew Scripture from the Latter Prophets: Jeremiah 9:1-16

O that my head were a spring of water,  and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night  for the slain of my poor people!

O that I had in the desert  a traveler's lodging place, that I might leave my people  and go away from them! For they are all adulterers,  a band of traitors. They bend their tongues like bows;  they have grown strong in the land for falsehood,  and not for truth; for they proceed from evil to evil,  and they do not know me, says the Lord. Beware of your neighbors,  and put no trust in any of your kin; for all your kin are supplanters,  and every neighbor goes around like a slanderer. They all deceive their neighbors,  and no one speaks the truth; they have taught their tongues to speak lies;  they commit iniquity and are too weary to repent. Oppression upon oppression, deceit upon deceit!  They refuse to know me, says the Lord.

Therefore thus says the Lord of hosts: I will now refine and test them,  for what else can I do with my sinful people? Their tongue is a deadly arrow;  it speaks deceit through the mouth. They all speak friendly words to their neighbors,  but inwardly are planning to lay an ambush. Shall I not punish them for these things? says the Lord;  and shall I not bring retribution  on a nation such as this? Take up weeping and wailing for the mountains,  and a lamentation for the pastures of the wilderness, because they are laid waste so that no one passes through,  and the lowing of cattle is not heard; both the birds of the air and the animals  have fled and are gone. I will make Jerusalem a heap of ruins,  a lair of jackals; and I will make the towns of Judah a desolation,  without inhabitant.

Who is wise enough to understand this? To whom has the mouth of the Lord spoken, so that they may declare it? Why is the land ruined and laid waste like a wilderness, so that no one passes through? And the Lord says: Because they have forsaken my law that I set before them, and have not obeyed my voice, or walked in accordance with it, but have stubbornly followed their own hearts and have gone after the Baals, as their ancestors taught them. Therefore thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: I am feeding this people with wormwood, and giving them poisonous water to drink. I will scatter them among nations that neither they nor their ancestors have known; and I will send the sword after them, until I have consumed them.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture: Joel 1

The word of the Lord that came to Joel son of Pethuel:

Hear this, O elders,  give ear, all inhabitants of the land! Has such a thing happened in your days,  or in the days of your ancestors? Tell your children of it,  and let your children tell their children,  and their children another generation.

What the cutting locust left,  the swarming locust has eaten. What the swarming locust left,  the hopping locust has eaten, and what the hopping locust left,  the destroying locust has eaten.

Wake up, you drunkards, and weep;  and wail, all you wine-drinkers, over the sweet wine,  for it is cut off from your mouth. For a nation has invaded my land,  powerful and innumerable; its teeth are lions' teeth,  and it has the fangs of a lioness. It has laid waste my vines,  and splintered my fig trees; it has stripped off their bark and thrown it down;  their branches have turned white.

Lament like a virgin dressed in sackcloth  for the husband of her youth. The grain offering and the drink offering are cut  off from the house of the Lord. The priests mourn,  the ministers of the Lord. The fields are devastated,  the ground mourns; for the grain is destroyed,  the wine dries up,  the oil fails.

Be dismayed, you farmers,  wail, you vinedressers over the wheat and the barley;  for the crops of the field are ruined. The vine withers,  the fig tree droops. Pomegranate, palm, and apple—  all the trees of the field are dried up; surely, joy withers away  among the people.

Put on sackcloth and lament, you priests;  wail, you ministers of the altar. Come, pass the night in sackcloth,  you ministers of my God! Grain offering and drink offering are withheld  from the house of your God.

Sanctify a fast,  call a solemn assembly. Gather the elders  and all the inhabitants of the land to the house of the Lord your God,  and cry out to the Lord.

Alas for the day! For the day of the Lord is near,  and as destruction from the Almighty it comes. Is not the food cut off  before our eyes, joy and gladness  from the house of our God?

The seed shrivels under the clods, the storehouses are desolate; the granaries are ruined  because the grain has failed. How the animals groan!  The herds of cattle wander about because there is no pasture for them;  even the flocks of sheep are dazed.

To you, O Lord, I cry. For fire has devoured  the pastures of the wilderness, and flames have burned  all the trees of the field. Even the wild animals cry to you  because the watercourses are dried up, and fire has devoured  the pastures of the wilderness.

Complementary Psalm 84:1-7

How lovely is your dwelling place,  O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, indeed it faints  for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh sing for joy  to the living God.

Even the sparrow finds a home,  and the swallow a nest for herself,  where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts,  my King and my God. Happy are those who live in your house,  ever singing your praise.

Happy are those whose strength is in you,  in whose heart are the highways to Zion. As they go through the valley of Baca  they make it a place of springs;  the early rain also covers it with pools. They go from strength to strength;  the God of gods will be seen in Zion.

Semi-continuous Psalm 65

Praise is due to you,  O God, in Zion; and to you shall vows be performed,  O you who answer prayer! To you all flesh shall come. When sinful deeds overwhelm us,  you forgive our transgressions. Happy are those whom you choose and bring near  to live in your courts. We shall be satisfied with the goodness of your house,  your holy temple.

By awesome deeds you answer us with deliverance,  O God of our salvation; you are the hope of all the ends of the earth  and of the farthest seas. By your strength you established the mountains;  you are girded with might. You silence the roaring of the seas,  the roaring of their waves,  the tumult of the peoples. Those who live at earth's farthest bounds  are awed by your signs; you make the gateways  of the morning and the evening shout for joy.

You visit the earth and water it,  you greatly enrich it; the river of God is full of water;  you provide the people with grain,  for so you have prepared it. You water its furrows abundantly,  settling its ridges, softening it with showers,  and blessing its growth. You crown the year with your bounty;  your wagon tracks overflow with richness. The pastures of the wilderness overflow,  the hills gird themselves with joy, the meadows clothe themselves with flocks,  the valleys deck themselves with grain,  they shout and sing together for joy. (TLCO: NRSV, NLT)

New Testament Epistle Lesson: 2 Timothy 3:1-9

You must understand this, that in the last days distressing times will come. For people will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, inhuman, implacable, slanderers, profligates, brutes, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, holding to the outward form of godliness but denying its power. Avoid them! For among them are those who make their way into households and captivate silly women, overwhelmed by their sins and swayed by all kinds of desires, who are always being instructed and can never arrive at a knowledge of the truth. As Jannes and Jambres opposed Moses, so these people, of corrupt mind and counterfeit faith, also oppose the truth. But they will not make much progress, because, as in the case of those two men, their folly will become plain to everyone.

Year C Ordinary 30, Catholic Proper 30, RCL Proper 25: Thursday

Selections are from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from New Revised Standard Version Bible (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked (NLT) are from the New Living Translation Holy Bible, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Image Credit: Detail from The Last Day of Pompeii by Karl Briullov, via Wikimedia Commons

[handeaux]

The Saga Of Pat McAvoy, Cincinnati’s Lion Slayer

The Cincinnati Zoo was not quite two weeks old when the Cincinnati Daily Times [30 September 1875] printed this rather snarky observation:

“It is said that the Zoological Society consists of two persons, Andrew Erkenbrecker and McAvoy. The former furnishes the game for the latter to shoot.”

Mr. Erkenbrecker, of course is the man most directly responsible for the creation of the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden. But who is McAvoy? And what did he shoot?

The answer is carved on a tombstone at New St. Joseph Cemetery in Price Hill. The capstone, badly eroded by acid rain, tells the curious tale of Patrick McAvoy, Cincinnati’s “Lion Slayer.”

McAvoy was born about 1835 in Ireland and emigrated as a child to the United States at the end of the devastating Great Potato Famine. In later years, legend had it that McAvoy landed in California during the Gold Rush. Maybe he did, and maybe he spent some time out west before settling down. It is known that he had a reputation as an expert marksman and belonged to an elite hunting and fishing club.

When the defining adventures of his life took place, however, McAvoy was settled on Ludlow Avenue, raising a family and enjoying an apparently prosperous career as a building contractor and carpenter. He also served as a town marshal in Clifton.

On 24 March 1895, McAvoy was engaged in constructing buildings at the Cincinnati Zoo, which would open that fall. While many of the Zoo’s buildings were still being assembled. many animals were already on-site and housed in temporary quarters. This was the situation involving a testy lioness, who was driven by hunger or by instinct to attack a donkey being led past her cage by a young boy. According to the Cincinnati Gazette [25 March 1875]:

“The lioness no sooner set eyes upon the ill-starred donkey, than she crouched in the back part of her cage, and, with a roar that startled the echoes, sprang against the bars, snapping them like threads, and landed upon the [donkey’s] back.”

The donkey put up quite a fight, inflicting a serious bite upon the lion’s spine and spared no opportunity to attack with its hooves, kicking repeatedly as the carnivore slashed its sides.

A policeman fired at the lion with his seven-shooter without much effect and night watchman John Nordheim led a small posse armed with a miscellaneous assortment of construction tools and actual weapons, trying to corner the beast. McAvoy joined this rag-tag brigade after fetching a shotgun from his tool shed.

Just as it appeared the lioness was hemmed in near the buffalo house, she sprang into the crowd and pinned watchman Nordheim to the ground, sinking her teeth into his thigh. McAvoy marched to within four feet of the animal and fired a load of birdshot at close range. The lion let go Nordheim, but leapt upon foreman George Haupt and mauled him. Another blast from McAvoy’s gun, and the animal was dead.

According to Kevin Grace and Tom White, authors of the 2004 book, “Cincinnati Cemeteries”:

“ . . . it is said that for the rest of his life, he could walk into any bar in the city and be treated to a drink for his heroism.”

McAvoy’s reputation as a crack shot and wild-animal slayer was cemented that fall when a leopard escaped from the Zoo and prowled Burnet Woods for a couple of days.

It was 18 September 1875 when the first paying customers filed through the Zoo’s gates. On Sunday of the next weekend, while the new zoological garden entertained 12,000 visitors, a keeper left the wrong door unlatched and a leopard got loose. Years later, Sol Stephan, the longtime Zoo manager, recalled the hunt for the Cincinnati Post [23 October 1907]:

“You must remember that at that time all the land around here was a great common. Avondale was a little village; Clifton was another. We offered $100 for any one who would kill the leopard. The city was terrified. Every time an old tom cat would yowl at night, another report would reach us that the ‘leopard’ was heard. He was seen in 20 different places from Maysville, Ky., to Dayton, O., on the same day.”

Both Avondale and Clifton – a decade before they were annexed to Cincinnati – had their own constabularies. John Pfeiffer of the Avondale department and Patrick McAvoy, Clifton’s marshal, roamed the area looking for the leopard. The leopard announced itself by chasing a gentleman down Clifton Avenue one night. As Mr. Stephan recalled, the city was, indeed, terrified. The Gazette [28 September 1875] opined that an uncaged leopard was good for parental discipline:

“The zoological leopard which is at large in the precincts of Clifton will be a blessing to mothers in keeping boys at home of nights.”

McAvoy and Pfeiffer cornered the leopard just outside the Zoo’s fence, no more than a couple hundred feet from where it escaped. Attempts at capturing it alive proved futile and, once again, Patrick McAvoy was hailed as the marksman who fired the fatal shot. The Gazette, deep in a long article, speculates that Constable John Pfeiffer may have inflicted the fatal wound, but “Lion Slayer” McAvoy got the headlines.

The lioness, the donkey and the leopard all met the same fate. They were stuffed and displayed at the Zoo for decades. An 1876 guidebook tells the tale:

“The interior of the Carnivora contains also the stuffed skin of the famous little Jackass, which resisted successfully an attack made by a Lioness at the Garden.”

McAvoy died in 1903, aged about 67 years old. He left behind a 38-year-old widow and that mysterious tombstone at St. Joseph Cemetery.

[michaelsennhauser]

Die Unverpassbaren, Woche 35 - 2022

Die Unverpassbaren, Woche 35 – 2022

‘Drii Winter’ von Michael Koch © Hugofilm Erst diese fünf Filme sehen, dann alle anderen: Drii Winter von Michael Koch. Nicht der erste Schweizer Spielfilm mit einem Urner Bergdorf als Kulisse, aber der hier nutzt die steile Landschaft geschickt, um eine tragische Liebe ins Sagenhafte zu überführen. The Hill Where Lionesses Roar von Leila Bashrami. Aus Perspektivenlosigkeit im Balkan wird…