Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 33

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Mark of the Two Moons
Chapter 33

      Kashezwe looked up into the glittering night sky as the stars slowly arced across the heavens until their flickering lights fell behind the new morning's pale horizon. Thomas lay sleeping, curled beneath an old tree where they had finally stopped for the night and built a glowing fire, warming themselves against the evening cold. They had returned to the trail of Jeremy and Matthew, this time continuing past the bloated rhino that had swollen and fallen over in the searing heat of the day.

Curled sharp beaks and yellow haired laughter had already begun their work. The new day would bring eager bellies and hungry scavengers tearing the once proud master of the open down to little more than stark white bones and a dark stain left on the African landscape. In time the sun and relentless heat would finally break down the great one and scatter the white powdered bones to the distant winds.

They were careful not to disturb the secondary tracks that led away from the tumbled scene where Konjaru had built the stretcher to carry the injured boy. Wrapped carefully to guard against sand and night moisture, the abandoned rifles were spirited away and laid under stone and loose gravel just outside the farm boundary when they had returned with their findings to the main house.

They had returned to the farm, up the long winding drive, where the blue gum trees swayed gently in the evening breeze until they came to the white washed house where a silent vigil had remained through the night. Their hands illuminated their story as they spoke, a curled palm folded, then rising in a slow arc, moving side to side describing in detail the story of the charging rhino and the desperate chase that led away to the hills to the west.

Redirected, they returned to the hunting grounds and pathways to find the men and boy who had disappeared, not to return until they had found them and come with that news.

A mile or so past the squabbling scavengers, they had finally stopped for the night to rest by a great limbed tree. The full moonlight had allowed them to continue following the deeply etched spoor signs of the mad dash through the winding trails, overgrown thickets and tall burned stones. The path was easy to follow even in the blue light of the moon but weary muscles finally drew their day's chase to a close.

They had built a low glowing fire for the night and each had taken their turn at sentry duty, allowing the other to fold his weary body and mind into dreams of rest.

An eye opened with a gentle flutter and peered over the low firelight. Thomas stared through the smoke and up at the stars. A lifetime wandering under the open stars, he could pinpoint any time of the night by the bending of the heavens.

The new day was upon them.The extinguished lights above told there was little time left before the morning would spring on them with a suddenness as unexpected as a coming night.

A stick of dried meat was drawn from their linen folds, food for the hurried where milk and millies could not be found to satisfy the grumbling morning. Water was to be found before noon, even the best runners could not go without water for more than a day. Their run slowed by muscles eager to drink and be renewed.

Kashezwe stood quickly now and brushed off the sand and leaves that had found their way to cling to him as the dawn had come. His bracelets and earrings chimed their own morning song in the crisp air. To the cattle he tended, the sounds of the tinkling metal soothed their morning jostle as they began their day leaving their enclosed compounds where thorny thickets had kept them safe from eyes that shone in the night.

A sandaled foot drew sand over the last of the fire. With gentle puffs, the flames withdrew back under the grey soot and red earth. A hiss and muffled sigh all that remained of their sudden life.

Without a sound they both turned to find the churned spoor they had followed under the blue light of the moon.

Kneeling to the side of it, Thomas read clearly the light sandaled feet that had led the mad chase and the deeper heels that had brought up the rear. They led now across an open field to the other side where they disappeared behind more gnarled trees and deep thicket. Judging from their direction, Thomas wondered out loud if perhaps they could cut across the disappearing tracks and find them again once they had rounded the small hill ahead.

Kashezwe looked out over the horizon, towards the low hills and nodded his approval. They could save valuable time crossing over between the two points. Perhaps a small stream could be found to quench their morning thirst.

The light hues of the new day were pushing back the darker night, cloaked obstacles that lay hidden by the stars were now revealed. The night's slow walk along the footpaths would be replaced, their own speed now faster than the hurried stretcher that had come past this place.

Thomas led the way, walking quickly to stretch cold muscles. Spear and shield folded to the sides of his body, he let his spirit find the heartbeat of the land until the last walking stride left his feet and padded soles found their flight in the morning air.

The rolling hills loomed ahead, marked by morning shadows cast by outstretched wooden limbs and stone. The padded feet behind him found his own rhythm, and together they sliced across the fields and trees up towards the low summit.

They found an old trail littered with small smooth stones, unused as the edges had become overgrown. Thomas watched the stones carefully as he ran, there to roll quickly once touched to do them a harm. Spirits within the stones would laugh if they were able to stumble a mindless traveller who had passed over them.

Past the summit, down the gentle slope to the base where a dry riverbed wound out away from them, towards the fields and trees beyond. Its banks were littered with the remains of old broken trees that had been washed down by fevered rains that had come over the years. Some lay half hidden by the sands that had washed over them, scrubbing them white and grey. Others lay buried at distorted angles, their limbs contorted, their roots weaving music in the sky as the winds wound around them to play.

They ran past the rainless path that led away to the right, up over the low banks that lined its way. Here the trees and underbrush gave way to more open fields, where winding trails criss-crossed as different species came from their nights' migrations to find the precious waters that had not come.

Spoors and trails seemed to blend before them as they ran but no mark of the two that had come before them. Thomas began to zigzag, from left to right every hundred yards, slowing his pace as his eyes searched for their trail. An outstretched arm and spear directed Kashezwe to broaden their search. In minutes they had fanned out, several hundred yards between them as they scoured every trail and path.

Thomas stopped dead in his tracks! An arrow sign made of stones and sticks pointed away from a path before him, to tall trees and thick underbrush that lay just a hundred yards away.

It was fresh. The light sand beneath the sticks and stones had not blown away; the dew still clung tightly under where they had been positioned.

One person had come this way. A single heeled imprint, deep in the sand that led away to the far trees. A deep round impression to the side of it, the markings of a heavy weight carried by the limb of a tree. A single line where a toe touched the ground, being carried up away from the earth that would seize it and cause it pain.

The heeled impression was of the rear stretcher carrier, but now coming from the other direction, back towards the farm, but from where? And why alone and wounded? Where was the sandaled one and the one carried on the stretcher?

Overlapping the imprints in the sand, silent padded feet had followed the desperate spoor. Wet drool marked the place that led it away from the trail and towards the trees. Sand had balled where the drool had fallen, like a string of pearls they had rolled along the new course. Its slinking intentions clear. Not too close to cause confrontation, close enough to witness its final resting place.

A single whistle to Kashezwe who looked back towards him from his own chase. Thomas's long spear turned him back towards the right of him, gesturing to follow this new course where their own paths would meet to continue.

Eyes held low, Thomas followed the trail as his legs began to find their pace again, the yards between him and the edge of trees falling away. In seconds he had crossed the open space and ran with open stride to where the first tree came into his full view, silhouetted against the beautiful morning hues of the new day.

Then the great roar came that closed his mind and filled his sandaled soles with stones. There was a blur of dust and flash of yellow fur, its laughing scream piercing his soul as the air became torn with the anguish of the hunted.

Trained since a boy to withstand the fear the that came with an attack, Thomas quickly knelt, spear held tightly, pointed to the front while his shield was held low side to side, to cover both his front and sides.

A dark mane surged past him, its roar tearing at his ears as it dove to feed its lifelong hatred. Outstretched claws catching a yellow flank, drawing first blood as the hyena darted back around behind the base of the tree, its own gaping mouth snarling, reaching back at the lion.

The hyena rolled as it has been caught by the outstretched claws, ripping away skin and opening a deep wound. The rolling and churned dust caught the lion's eyes, making him pause for just a moment, enough time for the hyena to find the quick sanctuary on the other side of the base of the tree.

Not wanting to loose him in a wild chase across open field leading to thicker underbrush, the lion stood in front of the tree, front paws clawing first one side behind the tree then the other. The hyena, clever not to loose the moment, stayed close to the opposite side but out of reach of the claws that would hold him while long fangs buried deep within and tear his life away.

The old lion seemed momentarily unsure. It paused, waiting for the hyena to dart and make his final move. Muscles rippled through his taught body, his great mane danced in the churning winds of dust and barking fear, while he stood snarling, fixed before the tree, taught and ready to spring at the moment of the hyena's last desperate dash for cover.

The hyena darted forward with its massive jaws, trying to bite through an outstretched paw with its razor sharp claws, hoping to wound the maddened lion and dash away while the lion held back a wounded limb. The gaping tear in its flank had slowed it down just enough for it snap wildly at empty air as it lunged forward in its counter attack.

The lion roared in final triumph catching the hyena by the side of the throat. With paws holding it to the ground, the lion shook the hyena wildly from side to side, its teeth ripping away flesh and blood. The hatred of this yellow scavenger filled his spirit, bringing new ferociousness to his mauling.

From beneath the lion's mouth, the hyena's feet tried to beat back the attack, smaller claws at the end of its short stocky legs leaving no mark on the underbelly of the lion as it tried in vain to fight itself away from the hot breath and bloodied teeth.

Deep within the madness of the lions furry, it registered that it had inflicted the death puncture. Beneath the yellow hair and screams of pain, the long teeth had found the main arteries and sinews. Blood loss now would hinder any escape, trembling limbs would slowly freeze as the final roar would come.

The lion let go of the hyena and stepped back to allow the raining dust to find its way back to the earth. The hyena regained its forelegs and sat helplessly watching the lion as it swayed back and forth on its haunches from the shock of the charge, knowing that the end had come. Blood ran down its fur, a flap of torn skin showed an open wound while blood mingled with the drooling whooping scream of laughter of the vanquished.

The battled had lasted less than a minute.

Thomas had remained transfixed during the battle. Not wanting to move for fear his movement would distract the lion, finding him an equal foe to charge during the blood enraged madness.

Kneeling with his spear and shield separating him from the life battle, he had looked up and over the dust that floated up from the swirling carnage. The great roar of the lion and bone chilling screams of dying laughter had reached through the milky haze of delirium, stirring the sleeping one lying wrapped in the outstretched arms of the tree limb above.

An eye opened from its midnight sleep, then an arm stirred to find a grip and steady itself from what seemed to be a bed in the morning heavens.

Below, the final lunge came swiftly and almost without sound, pinning the hyena down, long ivory teeth found the red arteries deep within. A single wrenching twist and the thick neck was broken, the clawing small feet became silent against the lions breast.

Laying flat, the lion held the dead hyena, its teeth still deeply embedded long after the light had left its eyes and its animal spirit had slipped up and through the tree limbs above. The laughing spirit glanced briefly at the three legged beast it had followed along the long winding pathways during the day, then it was gone.

To the victor, time now to find the source of this blood that had come in the night and stirred him from his riverbed.

Thomas watched the dust fell around him as the air became clear. From beneath the tree, the great yellow eyes had now found him; a long tooth buried deep within the hyena barred itself in a new snarl.

Like an orchestra that had fallen silent, the echoes of the raging bloody madness lingered in the morning air, waiting for the final score.

The song of kings was about to play.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 32

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Mark of the Two Moons
Chapter 32

       The waters danced and gently bubbled past the old hands of Majura as she dipped them into the cool gentle flowing water, washing the last of the young warrior's fevers from her skin. Rippling on the glistening surface, the early sun danced for a moment with the waning moon before being carried downstream.

Majura reached behind her, grasping hold of the soft cloth that had finally cleansed their sickness from each of the boys and held it deep as the clear morning water rinsed the fevered dreams caught fast in the fabric.

As the young boys lay by the edge of the stream, still too weak to mouth the many words that lay buried in their hearts, the running waters had cooled the last of their fevered brows.

They had both woken in the night, minutes of each other. Their fevers finally broken beside the dancing light of a warm low fire to find the face of an old woman peering at them through the soft smoke, smiling her welcome. Majura's Milk Eye staring keenly through them as she watched the ones whom Ngai had put directly in her care, her smile soothing their hearts and the fears born from their awaking into this unknown.

The scents of medicine pouches overhead drowned out the pungent odours from their fevered skins and the bloodied bandages that had covered their wounds with their healing salves.

Etona was the first to turn to his head and see who had laid with him in this darkness. Even before his eyes were open, he had felt the presence of another that had lain by his side. The low flickering light caught the soft glow of white skin in the dark shadows. After a while, a young face with sunken tired eyes finally turned to him, eyes unfocused and blurred by smoke. They stared at each other, eyes locked as young warriors do. Chests drew long, deeper breaths as each measured the other in the darkness. Even now, wasted as they were from their fevers, the call to battle erupted between them.

The minutes went by in the semi-darkness as Marura watched as the Two Moons spoke in silence to one another. Matthew finally looked away, already tired of the game that had sprung up between them. Etona stared for a minute longer, a smile touching his lips knowing this encounter had been won.

Mathew's golden hair stirred a faint memory that flashed for a moment, leaving a tremble in Etona's body, then it was gone. He looked one last time at the old women across from him, then closed his tired eyes to sleep.

Majura stared long into the glowing fire after both Sons of the Moon had returned to the shelter of their sleeping. Out of her doorway, Majura measured a rising lonely star as it rose above the dark horizon, until, higher than the lowest branch of the withered tree. What could not be seen in the fire or the visions seen by her Milk Eye, she cast the last of the white marked bones before her and read of the night that was to come.

Murmuring softly into the darkness, Majura spoke to the smoke that rose up into the night. It carried her words up into the night sky where the winds would carry them to Ngai, telling him of the rivers that were to come.

When this task was done and the scented leaves were scattered over the fire to bring sweetness with her final message Majura held her cupped hands that contained her whispered words over the fire, then gently clapped her hands twice, the sounds rising up to the heavens.

When the fire was finally low and the blinking star had risen above the gnarled limb out in the courtyard, she quietly called to Pathera and Gileni who had long retired for the night. It was not long before both had come and entered the low doorway to their mother.

"What do you need Mother?" asked Pathera kneeling before her. Pathera's broken sleep still filled her eyes, they were slow to move as she searched Majura's face for her words in the dim firelight. Gileni fared no better. The day had been long preparing the newest herb pouches and her sleeping mat had come very welcomed at the end of her day.

"The last herbs must be brought in. They are only harvested in the night when its leaves are closed for the night. The night dew caught in its leaves brings out the right moisture when it is crushed, too much water when it is prepared and the leaves turn to mould and dies. The flower is ready to come now. There is a good fruitful tree on the other side of the water river. The great silent ones have not come and stripped it of its life. The small path that leads away from the water. Follow it and you will find the flowers when the path turns to the open fields. Take only the white closed leaves. You will see them clearly in the moon light against the darkness."

"When you come back to your huts, fold them gently and leave them in the last pouches you have and take them with you for the night to be ready in the morning." Majura then pointed a single finger at the direction of the young men sleeping quietly, "They will be fine until the morning, they will not need to be cared for this night."

"Now go!"

Without any further words, the Twins turned still kneeling and left through the dark opening and into the night. They would travel without harm. No animal would know of them this night, the day's herbs still lingered on their skins to cover their own scents. They would return later when their mission was complete and go directly to their huts and waiting sleeping mats.

Majura waited a few minutes until she was sure the twins had crossed over the waters. Rising from her corner of the hut, she stretched over the young warriors with a long thin stick she had kept by her side all the day.

Gently, she touched the leg of each boy, who startled awake with eyes whiter than the night time moon. While both were staring intently at her, sudden fear of the night and of the single Milk Eye that seemed to glow at them, Majura's single finger in front of her lips spoke the universal language of silence, then it curled slowly to them, beckoning them to follow.

The miniature ornaments in her hair clinked together, singing the song of her leaving as she left through the door without bending. Without the flickering light, she disappeared into the darkness leaving the young men alone in the hut.

Once again, they starred at each other, still breathing hard at the suddenness of their awakening. The dark sunken eyes the testament to the illnesses that has stripped each of their youthful strength.

First rising to an elbow, they rolled from their sleeping mats to kneeling positions, steadying themselves as fevered muscles fought for lost strength to carry them.

After what seemed like ages, Matthew was the first to stand erect, holding unsteadily to the side wall. His grinding teeth could be heard in the stillness as he fought to find his way to follow the old woman. His eyes grinned with triumph back to the rear of the hut where Etona fought to find his way to match him.

His triumph was short-lived. As he let go of the sidewall and bent forward to go through the doorway, his strength left him, and he pitched straight forward face first into the sand. Coughing and spluttering he rolled to the side, the back of his hand wiping away the sand that now ringed his mouth.

A light chuckle echoed from the rear of the hut, following by the shuffle of tired feet as Etona approached the doorway. His head suddenly appeared through the darkness where he could see Matthew wiping his face. The moonlight caught his wide grin as he stretched one leg forward to leave the hut.

Laying to the one side, Matthew stretched out one leg as if to find his was back to standing, where it brushed the side of the Etona's outstretched leg as he came though the doorway. It was enough to topple his unsteady frame and he too fell into the sand in a jumbled heap.

Mathew's chuckle was not reserved, it echoed across the compound to the stones that stood above the hilltop. Silent eyes that had been recessed into the night, woke to find the Life Game still at play below them.

The eyes of Etona flashed back at Matthew where the last chuckle died in his throat. Both now fought to find their legs and follow the old woman who had disappeared into the night. Without the walls to steady them they were as new born chicks, unsteady, and ready to fall if the slightest breeze came to play with them.

Like dancers with arms flaying at their sides, they fought to steady themselves. An outreached hand instinctively grasped the arm of the other and as their wild dance diminished it became clear, together they could stand and move.

Alone they were helpless!

Their eyes met through the darkness and held long enough for both to understand their mutual need. One hand on one shoulder, the other around a waist, they shuffled forward. The first and last time they would extend a hand to aid the other.

Out of the darkness to the right of them, Majura clapped her hands so that they could hear her. Matthew on the left, walked an extra pace to bring them level with the direction of her sound, then they shuffled forward to find her.

Majura led them down to the end of the stream where across the waters, Konjaru had first found Chezwe asleep behind a stone. Here she paused for a minute, mouthing words into the quiet night. Her hand rose slowly in an arc until finally pointing to the stars, where it hung motionless for a while, then her arm fell once more to her side. Majura then turned to her right and led them all further away from the compound without a word.

They did not travel very far. An old tree had come and made a covering for them as it had been swept down to this place from an earlier rainy season. Here Majura knelt down and placed a small mat beneath the trunk and gently sat on it.

Looking up at the unsteady boys, she grinned at them and motioned at them to come to the side of her. A few more shuffles and they eagerly collapsed to the ground to the side of her. They had not brought their sleeping mats so they lay panting, clothed only with their herbal cloths that protected their wounds on the cool sands by the water.

Majura sat regal, the stars outlining her diminutive form. The moon suddenly came and bathed her with blue light from the heavens. The night's darkness seemed to leave her presence, every bead and ornament clearly visible in this dark night.

Matthew and Etona watched her to find some clue as to what to do next but all she did was sit smiling at the open sky. Occasionally, her hand reached out, as if to draw some map in the air, words came from her soundless lips as she spoke to the Unseen. Several times she grinned as she spoke and motioned one way, then pausing, she would direct her fingers or hand this way or that.

Majura finally pressed her hands together, and while she sat by the trunk of the tree, bowed low and with her hands outstretched before her, clapped her hands three times, then opened her palms to the stars and sky.

There she remained for minutes, until the blue light from the moon dimmed, the stars seemed to fade and the gentle sounds from her hair ornaments sang their last song of praise.

Ngai paused before her and gently touched both her outstretched hands, then softly turned to the direction of the hill. He paused to look at the young warriors as they slept, then strode forward to find the final battle between man and beast.

The stars shifted in the night, the slow arc in the heavens turned until the first glow on the horizon marked the beginning of the new day.

The life song of the night changed as the night's survivors found new waters to drink and fresh leaves and grasses to fill their empty bellies. Squels and morning dances of the young brought life to the small herds that lined the banks. Long trunks curled around the new born, keeping them away from the deeper waters as they bathed, greeting each other and drinking their need for the day.

Matthew and Etona had slept, their tired bodies exhausted from the small night time adventure. Dawn had brought the cool touch of soft cloth bathed in clear waters, washing the last fevers from their bodies and brow.

They lay as they slept as Majura washed them. Soothing words, meaningless to them both, caressed their fears until all that was left was the sigh of a newborn smile.

The strong scent of soot filled the air as the winds turned to come from over the compound. Majura nodded, her hand caressing the air in front of her as if to calm what the winds had carried. The scent of death mingled with the burned thatch that had come with the winds.

Scorched skin and a woman's fear as strong as the scent of death. The wind carried a new smell, dusty padded sandals and the leather shields painted with yellow eyes of Warriors. The sweat of a long march to this place clear in the air.

Majura suddenly clapped her hands several times, like she had done in the night but louder, then sat with her hands in front on her, clutching a brown falcon feather on her lap and patiently waited.

In a few minutes, the bushes lining the pathway to the compound rustled and spoke of their coming. From the first clearing came the proud white mane of Whahnu the Elder and the sandaled feet of the Masai Warriors of the village, come to find their young chief and to tell him of the passing of the Great One and the death of his last wife found alone in the ashes of her hut.

Behind Whahnu, the twins came with their faces strained with relief, Pathera's hand steadying a wounded Chezwe as they came to her. The remainder of their night had been spent above on the hilltop, waiting for the morning light that would direct them to their Mother, who had wondered off into the night before the Wild Spirits had come with their fires and death.

Only the falcon riding high above, heard the first roar as the sun broke through the mists of the morning.

The final battle had begun.

Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Chapter 31

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Mark of the Two Moons
Chapter 31

        The gentle rolling blue hills seemed to emerge out of the slumbering sky as the sun brought faint new colours to blend into the awaking landscape. Early morning mists rose to greet the warmth of the new day as birds spread their wings out over the open escarpment to shake off the morning dew. Here on the land, those who have survived the night greet each day with a shuffle and gentle twitch of ears cocked stiffly to hear when the stalkers have begun their new quests. The dead lay where they drew their last breath, the night time darkness offering no sanctuary to the hunted. Roars and rippled laughter in the night marking the time when one of their own had fallen giving them each another day in which to live.

The price for life in Africa is measured by each night's bloody offereings.

A bloody scent had come down from the nights rolling winds and settled by the stump of an old tree that lay in the aftermath of last season's swollen river. By its side, yellow eyes had opened in the night, as the scent wrapped itself over the nose of Africa's greatest hunter.

Two failed hunting attempts had left him tired and hungry and careful to choose his next quarry. With each failure he had become weaker and the selection of his next hunt would have to be smaller and much slower.

This rich scent was of fresh blood, red blood alive with oxygen as the animal bled, not a decaying carcass left by another or one who had fallen by disease or broken bone.

The lion rose from the riverbed and stood still as he breathed in the scent of the wounded. His head gently moving from side to side, taking in the direction and paths it had taken to reach him. The scent became the map for him to follow, of limbed trees and green, yellow and black coarse hair that had its own blood mingled in it, sand wet from the night and fear of the hunted lying up in the wind.

He turned and walking into the wind, head high and straight holding the scent as he went. From time to time as he moved around a stone or tree, down into another ravine and up, he would stand quietly again until the scent found him. The minutes would go by as he lived inside the smells and read the stories of how it had come to him. Each scent records its journey, and in the lion's eye and mind, as he walked along the scent's own riverbed, he found the points where it had touched the land. Walking backwards along its trail, it became stronger as the winds came in new waves from the open fields of trees and tall grasses.

He came along a walking path where the scent was older from the previous day. The marks left in the sand spoke of two who had come this way. The last mark made by one of the laughing ones who came to each kill to steal away what they could. They came as cowards with heads down, darting in and out, fighting for the scraps that lay bloody in the grass, afraid to challenge alone.

He had killed many of these over the years who had challenged him. Pouncing on those who had come too close at a kill, they were left ripped and torn as a warning to the rest as they retreated into the night.

The lion was older now and the days of his patrolling his territory had gone. Two young brothers, full sized and confident of their prowess and with manes rippling in the wind had come and taken over his pride. The lionesses were quick, changing their allegiances to these younger males. Curling tails and the gentle nuzzle against their manes, their acceptance of their new lords.

The initial bloody challenge had lasted a few minutes but the outcome was never in doubt. Two of Africa's finest against an older lion with many seasons of good hunting, making him heavier and slower than the younger lean muscled newcomers. Deep bloodied sockets from long white teeth had punctured through his skin leaving small rivulets of blood and razor sharp talons had opened a shoulder marking the end of his rule. Ears flat and tail low to the ground, he had turned and fled through the under bush.

Africa does not concern herself with the morality of the vanquished.

The rainy seasons had come twice while he lived alone. Careful not to wonder over a younger lion's territory, he had found this area unclaimed and settled here where the herds had over the years migrated further away, to the remaining water areas that had survived the long dry seasons. This made successful hunting more difficult and at times he had to settle for what he could from another's kill.

His padded feet carried him in the night as he walked behind the scent of the yellow haired one. A long memory fueling a dark instinct that had begun to grow inside his hunger. Almost lost now in this quest was the blood scent that had woken him from his sleep.

Gentle winds blew over the tall sharp grasses, this time, mingled with the blood scents, came the first whispers of sound and rustling of the hunted. A twitch of an ear listening intently and the gentle rhythms of breathing close to the ground echoed louder with each minute.

The old lion followed the trail until he came to the point where the scent veered off and into the trees and bushes. He paused for just a minute, turned slowly and crouching slightly he moved forward with his ears turned directly to the front.

The gentle panting of the yellow haired one could be heard now as it lay waiting. Low to the ground, he listened until his ears then his eyes could find their mark. He saw clearly the hyena below a forked tree. His oversized head resting on it paws, its eyes never leaving the space around the lower trunk of the tree.

Behind the tree, the first colours of the new day were being painted along the horizon.

The lion looked up and saw a drooping shadow hanging on the last lower branch, silhouetted against the rising sun and blue hills.

This was the source of the blood that had brought him to this place.

It was to the yellow haired one that his anger and hatred would be directed. These carrion eaters had stolen many smaller kills when he had gone for an evening drink, only to return to bloodstained sand and a newly killed carcass gone.

The lion hid in the tall grass, his yellow eyes settled on the hyena and tree and waited for the daylight to come.

The mischievous eyes in the long shadows glistened with smiles as they faded into the sunlight of the morning.