Western Bawn -- Savannah
There are still a few small patches of wetland on the northwestern edge of the western bawn, though most of the land here is dry savannah. The wide, sweeping, yellow grasses pervade the flat land like a sea, and like a sea the wind touches them in moving waves. Small stands of trees form islands of refuge among this vast grass. Above, the heavenly vault is awesome, the definitive characteristic of the African continent. On the inner side of the western bawn is a section of savannah marked by slightly rolling hills, and beneath these is an open patch of land that's well traversed. This flat, trafficked area is frequented by the denizen of the caern as a place of training, sparring, and discussion. The grasses thin out as they approach the highlands to the southeast, while wetlands open up to the northwest.
Contents:
Treecatcher
Obvious exits:
Grassland Marsh Central Bawn Northern Bawn Southern Bawn
GAME: This room may be monitored with +watch.

The setting sun heralds encroaching twilight in a not so subtle blaze of reds and yellows. A subtle blue creeps after, like a hyena waiting to gobble up the leftovers of light. It is in this serenity of wild Africa, a lone cheetah lopes slowly over through the golden grasses. His spotted coat blends perfectly into mottled grass, the runner following the sounds of a moving impala herd in the vicinity. So far... he hasn't been seen or heard. So far, so good.

Ahead, the hour has richened the grasses, the great sweeping vista crackling golden as far as the eye can see. Antelopes dance and skitter with the anxiety of dying light, the herd pressing on one last measure. Something has agitated them, in their arcane way. Delicate prophets with dainty horns, already tasting a hint of disaster.

Like the hint of a storm on the air, the feeling of being watched increases when the cheetah continues nearing. The herd call to each nervously, checking in with each member though none can find the cat. Fireborn closes in, picking out a decent meal of an impala doe, finding a gash on the young antelope's flank healed over from a flight past. Golden eyes widen in anticipation...creeping ever closer...

Then a sudden release of energy flies over the grasses in the form of a grace-filled spring into action. The cheetah launches himself straight over the land scattering the herd in all directions of panic. The scarred doe bolts for the cover of nearby bush, kicking and leaping to show she is indeed healthy and can certainly out-dodge nearly any animal on the savannah. But even with her leaps of faith, the cheetah closes in on a tight turn. He uses the heavy bush to his advantage, herding the doe towards its thorns as his paws carry him smoothly through the grass. The doe sees the strategy too late, and skids in a turn to avoid the bushes and make for the open savannah, but the cheetah is already there. In a clash of hoof and tooth, Fire catches the hind leg of the doe and throws off the rhythm of the jump. The doe falls with a wild bleat, calling for help and receiving none. The thrashing hooves are ducked and dodged as the cheetah clamps his jaws over the beast's windpipe, squeezing down until finally...torturingly... the light in the doe's eyes disappear as the sun finds its rest beyond the horizon of the savannah.

Yellow eyes stare through the lace of thorns. Above the maddening, overwhelming scent of blood, the stink of a lion smells through, however dampened by direction of blowing evening wind. Treecatcher licks slavering jaws.

Tempts-Fate crosses the invisible line that seperated the Bawn, from the remainder of the savanna. The jackal keeps to the tall grasses, their waving movement betraying her presence. The wind brings her the familiar scent of Treecatcher and Fireborn, the cheetah who hunts on the same lands as her pack.

Despite the swift runner's ability to chase, Fire finds himself almost sprawled liberally over the corpse of the animal, his jaws unclenching when he is sure the impala will not return to life. At this time he waits for his breath to catch up to him, the twitching of his tail indicating only slight discomfort of the body to handle such high speeds and sudden changes. Nonetheless, his sharp eyes look around for competition, and at the waving grasses he snorts. Already the jackals come... and the smell of the lioness who wishes the land gave her meat without the chase. He flicks an ear in Treecatcher's direction, before using his sight to go picking her out amongst the bush.

The lioness lowers her head, her eyes biting deep into the Swara hunter. A deep growl sizzles, and in a bold swerve, she turns, heavy paws shoving into the ground as she skirts the worst of the thorns, shouldering past the remnants with flinchless determination. Her muzzle wrinkles deep canyons as she approaches. Tempts-Fate halts a respectful distance away, watching the mini-drama unfold as the lion attempts to steal a meal. The jackal sniffs the air, before glancing up and see the first of the vultures as the carrion birds begin to arrive. Turning her attention back to the two cats, the Strider watches and waits. If the kill is left unguarded, it might just disapear.

Fireborn generally tries to ignore the lioness' approach, concentrating instead on downing as much of the meat as he can before /any/ predator can penetrate a certain safe bar he's bent around his kill. His teeth rip into the reddest part of the impala, the flank, and soon the scent of blood draws itself in an encompassing, dissapating bubble. Another glance up shows the lioness getting closer, and Fireborn growls warningly with blood-stained teeth showing in a small but fierce display. Ears pinning back, he snarls. Don't even try it, Catcher of Trees.

The lioness blows out a snort, so forcefully that a thin spray spritzes from her nostrils. She has grown from the last time the cheetah saw her. She has.. improved. The ratty tatter of her fur has turned to reluctant, streamlined tawny, the burrs and bugs chewed out with wrathful correction. Treecatcher's paws push into the ground, claws oozing out at every step. She pulls up short, a lunge away from cheetah and carcass, her breath huffed into her puffing chest. Her jaws open and she takes from it a very loud coughing snarl.

Her roar hasn't changed one bit.

If there was more than one lion... or even just one male... Fireborn would be more worried about his kill. But, he knows the lioness, and it's precisely that knowledge that dampens the initial fear. Still, a lunge length is a lunge length, and with a quick scoop of his jaws around the dead impala's neck he starts to drag the animal away from the lioness. Quickly. And every few steps he slows to glance at the lioness with scolding eyes. If the lions want their meat, they'll have to earn it themselves. The cheetah doesn't worry about his claws... they're forever unsheathed as Gaia intended. After a few meters he sets down his kill again and continues eating near a thorn bush.

[Tempts-Fate's lupus desc]
A golden jackal stands before you, tan fur that same color of the surrounding grasslands. With a darker saddle of black guard hairs, speckled across her back. Large pointed ears rest on the top of Tempts-Fate skull, framing a delicate face and elongated muzzle. A bushy tail rests on her other end, golden like the rest of her body. These small canines are well known on the savannah, killing their own prey, scavenging, and stealing from larger predators when the opportunity arises.

Tempts-Fate's ears splay and her tongue lolls, amused to see a lion humbled in such a manner. Most cheetahs would run from a lion, or risk being killed. The normal laws of nature do not always apply to Gaia's children, however. The vultures begin landing, pushing and shoving as they figure out who will get at the kill first. After the bigger preditors eventually abandon it. Low to the ground, Tempts-Fate slides closer.

And she follows him, step for step. Her growl has faded into deep, rhythmic grunting, tail lashing at her ankles. Her yellowed teeth show when black lips give way. She roars, again, a grunting rush of crackling air.

Fireborn pauses in swallowing as the lioness' roar rumbles through the air. He bares teeth at her again, this time rising to his paws and stiffleggedly standing over the half-eaten animal. In irritation he rises and stamps the ground with both forepaws, neck twitching and raising his short spinal ruff. Get your own kill, Treecatcher. This one is rightfully mine. A low growl and intense golden stare later he wrinkles his muzzle and tears off a chunk more. In the back of his mind though, he's well aware that even in her weak strength, the lioness still overpowers him in this form. The nearconstant lash of his tail subconsciously kinks with debate and anxiety.

Tempts-Fate can't help herself, she really, really can't. Its her moon and its making her cocky, not to mention a little reckless. The jackal continues to slink closer, ears back as she zeros in on Treecatcher's tail. Trusting the lions intrest in Fireborn's kill to keep her occupied.

Treecatcher steps even closer. Her paws stop only when they touch dusty blood. The lioness stands firm, her shoulders jutting, her jaw hanging. Her head lowers, falling level with the sharp line of her back. She inhales, hard, as if to snort the scene before her into both nostrils. The reek of her breath will wilt grass at any moment.

For a time the grass in the distance has remained still, but now a high pitched and almost insistantly whiny meow rings out from about a hundred feet away: an announcement and greeting. Hello!

Tempts-Fate's head lifts in surprise, giving away her position for all to see. Large ears swiviling forward, as she turns to face the new arrival.

Fireborn was half-debating that he should smack the lioness across the muzzle with a paw, the way he'd been chastised by his own kuasha. But right when he gathers himself for a lunge, the high pitched meow dispells his current thought and he looks in the direction of such an out of place sound. Still, a paw that was bent on slapping the lioness finds itself resting warily on top of the impala's neck.

The haughty kit has sucked in another breath, pulling the savannah air deep into her lungs, her short yellow hairs on end. But before she can make another movement, another sound, the massive weight of her stare budges, a boulder slowly pushed aside. With no little annoyance, her head turns as her tail lashes.

Kyphur Cat doesn't move. He's pretty sure he's a distance away from where he ran into the lioness last time, making it a safer position and better bet taht it's farther outside the terratory. Who knows, though. The silencing of the roaring, though means they heard him. Not much he can vocalise at this distance other than to repeat the call, less a question this time. Hello.

Tempts-Fate looks away from the direction of the call, to the lioness who is no more then a few feet away from her. Wisely, the jackal moves. Putting some distance between herself and the various cats.

Fireborn snatches up another mouthful of flank as he sees the lioness distracted. For the moment he is not inclined to answer the hello, crowded enough as the savannah is now. Bloodied jaws work to down the fresh meat even as the flies and vultures gather. With a flicker of his ears he glances at the boulder which moved on its own. And then he looks at Treecatcher, with no less a hint of confusion in the cheetah's gaze.

The lioness simply stands for a moment, unmoving, letting the sound of the cat rattle in her head. At last, she unfurls a snarl to the darkening grasses. Who goes there? Approach so your scent may be known.

Kyphur Cat pads though the grass amiably, towards the sound of the roars and eventual responce. His form remains hidden in the grass until the last, though the brushing as waving of the foilage gives away his position -- but then he's not trying to hide it. After a few seconds he appears out ot the grass. His tail lashes nervously back and forth a few times low near the ground. His eyes move between the two, recognising the pattern and sound of the cheeta and the lioness vaugly familiar.

Tempts-Fate disapears back into the grasses. Out of sight, out of mind. Right?

Fireborn takes a cursory glance towards the third feline, all the while gulping down a feast of impala as the lioness is distracted. It's not long before he gives up the kill to whatever comes first, having eaten his fill of rich flank and shoulder. Cheetahs don't eat innards though, and when the scavenger birds set in, it's a fierce squabble amongst the stinky birds. Contented, the Swara lies down on flattened grasses not too far away, purring. What brings you here, Keeper of the Pasts?

Moonwatcher slinks through the dry, dry brown grasses of the savannah range as he works his way from the southern parts of the bawn. He seems in no rush, happy to be sauntering across ground which he knows better than anywhere. He occasionally pauses here and there to scent the ground, lift his head, shake out the growing shagginess of his mane, then continue forward fitfully..

Interesting creatures, he replies simply. Though much of anything complex is either unknown or difficult to express for him. I see the herd, and hear the roar. Not my home, though. His eyes and ears scan the surroundings, but with at least one familiar face he decides to take a less fleeting position and sit down on his haunches.

You, Treecatcher indicates the Swara with no more than a grunt. What is he, this Memory? The squeezing stare of the young lioness remains on the black cat, a thing that could not possibly be real.

Moonwatcher's ears twitch and the kit veers his path nearer toward Treecatcher, emitting a small sound as he approaches the others in the menagerie.

Fireborn flicks his tailtip, for a moment refusing utterly to answer any interrogative questions from the lioness that moments before intended on stealing his kill. But now that he's full in the belly, the Swara sniffs. Moonwatcher's appearance through the dimmed grass makes the cheetah switch positions, taking up a spot even further away from the lions. A feline, of our distant families, he replies simply with a chirring rumble.

Kyphur Cat listens and watches with much reaction -- that is until the young male lion cub appears. At his appearnce, the smaller black cat gets up and a a few steps backwards and decides that an short explination is in order. I met one of your kind near here. I came back to speak. I am not good at this. -- Being a vague term, 'this' remains up to interpretation.

The reply leaves the lioness in no little unsatisfaction, the kit's agitation at a low boil. Her eyes watch the cheetah intently, the blood at his muzzle, the spots on his back, the way he moves, no detail safe from her unapproving stare. That stare turns on the Bubasti, before a familiar scent touches her senses, soon after the sound of the young male. Treecatcher seems to brighten.

Moonwatcher nose bumps Treecatcher. Though I have been gone long, it is good to see that somethings do not change. I am glad to see you and I hope you are well. He pauses then, his tongue curling out of his mouth in a wide, lazy yawn as he sniffs toward the kill. Spot cat. A simple acknowledgement toward the cheetah. As for the Bubasti, well, the young kit doesn't seem to know what to make of it. No overt hostility, and the black cat seems to calm a bit agian retaking a seat. Maybe not approval, though. He doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry either, watching the greeting with more than a little interest.

Fireborn takes a little pleasure in the lioness and her riled simmering state. Serves her right for trying to annoy him and even provoke a strike. In a similar prefunctory greeting the cheetah sniffs at the male lion cub. You returned. The cheetah shakes his head with a flick, and starts licking away the blood on his muzzle with care. He gives just a portion of his attention towards the Bubasti and the lions, hiding his curiosity to see how they would react to each other. This is the way of cats... lazing around, when there's nothing to do /but/ preen.

Treecatcher presses her shoulder against him, tail switching at her ankles. She has grown some in the time the other kit has seen her last, and her coat, once shaggy and shredded, has now been tended to. The punishing teeth of Tempest have seen to that. Moonwatcher, there is so much strange now, she informs, her ill mood starting to dissolve away. The jackals, and that one, the dark one. And there are spirits! And the hyenas brought a vulture. A big vulture. And.... here Treecatcher looks almost smug. I went to another world.

Moonwatcher snorts at that assertion, his ears flattening backwards. You certainly did not. The denial is bold, but tinged with a hint of gullability. Moonwatcher looks at the young female curiously for a moment before he returns his study of the Bubasti. I am Moonwatcher, one of Selene's children. What is your name, stranger?

Kyphur Cat shifts a bit in his position, the conversaion coming from the pair of lions more than a little intriguining. He doesn't bother to inturrupt them, though. Or dare. He ponders the lion's question a moment. -- I have been given no name pronouncable or meaningful to you. -- He pauses, then speaks it in the only way he might understand, *Scribe-of-Tahuti* The spotted one called me Keeper of the Past. Good translation.

Fireborn's attention comes to the fore at mention of spirits, ears swiveling forward to set themselves in Treecatcher's direction. As much as the Swara doesn't want to show his interest, the ever-alive tip of his tail tingles. Another world? he thinks. A Spirit world? And /she's/ been to it? The Swara however keeps an inquiring rumble inwards, waiting for any possible other slips of secrets from the blunt lioness.

Tempts-Fate slips away, having lost intrest in the current situation. Its not as if she can understand what the cats are saying.

Treecatcher takes the other kit's disbelief with little more than a light sniff. Clearly, Moonwatcher is dimwitted, a fact which radiates off her like her very smell, which seems to be ranging somewhere between mud and old blood. Obviously, the spirit world is a bored and tired topic, so she discards it, as if pulling a bug from her hide with her teeth. Her attention returns to the black cat, the Little One. *What is a Tahuti?*

Moonwatcher sniffs toward the strange black cat, taking a few steps nearer. Full of mystery, too. Everyone knows spot cats are as easy to decipher as a cloud. Odd then, that you should not share those markings. A soft rumble comes from the kit's throat. He glances back at Treecatcher, turning, circling toward her. When I was younger, your tall tales perhaps would have fooled me. But I know enough at this point to demand some shred of proof from you, moonsister.

Fireborn twitches again, an eager energy charging through his mind and flowing into his body as he makes an effort to scooch forward a couple of sliding steps. Of course, he masks this with a quick roll in the dirt. And of course, this does nothing for his previous attempt of cleaning his coat. Cleanliness can wait though, as his eyes take on a new light towards Treecatcher and Moonwatcher. He'd like some proof too. And perhaps, a method.

*A myth, perhaps. A name my people have given to a great god or spirit. A being that may only me imaginary. It seems you may know better than I, in this case.* The black cat speaks in that much more vocal dialog; the one he has considerable more mastery over, even if it does lack the subtle subtexts. He stands agian, but rather than moving away, he moves towards Treecatcher, a curious look in his eye while Moonwatcher awaits a responce. He knows when someone speaks falsly, not that he'd announce that fact.

The lioness hears this from the Little One, her head cocked to the side. Moonwatcher and his vast, sweeping ignorance go ignored for now, Treecatcher brushing past him with a haughty rub. A method? Now her gaze goes to the spotcat, her muzzle wrinkling slightly, as if she had tasted something bad. And proof? There is no proof, Flower. It is the spirit world. I cannot bring it here.

Moonwatcher takes that as a sign he is correct about Treecatcher's claim. He prances forward proud of not being deceived, haughty, smug in his own right. Keeper of the Past, why have you come to our sacred lands?

That's /Fire/ to you, huntress, the Swara growls lowly, only to stifle his rising annoyance at the situation. Moonwatcher's dance away gets an earflick. There are spirits, and they live in their lands, as we live in ours. For once, he supports Treecatcher and her claims. I have seen the Storm pass between them. He gazes straight at Treecatcher. But to believe that you yourself have walked the spirit lands, is something else.

To learn, he replies simply. The other cats that have seen him more than once can probably tell there's a lot of basics the Black Cat doesn't know. Mankind might have a different opnion, though. My home became still, oppertunity rested elsewhere.

Treecatcher watches her fellow warrior, trying to look almost pitying-- like the wise mother of a cub. She knows better. He may be ignorant and foolish, but she cannot truly let it ruin him for her. This is how Treecatcher tries to look, trying not to let the annoyance rise up like an angry swarm of flies. He isn't supposed to do that! He's supposed to be begging her to know how it was! Begging! The Swara's reply is an utterly sour look.

Moonwatcher notes the Swara's attitude, turning to face Treecatcher. Well, I am glad you have experienced so much while I was gone. I too have seen much, experienced much. I have grown stronger and bigger. I have my roar, now, moonsister. Like my mother, I had to see where the gazelle and impala and zebra go when the rains stop.

Fireborn answers that with a simple, They go where the water goes. The cheetah isn't put off by Tree's sour look aimed at him, although he does return the lioness' gaze with a calm curiosity. You've found your roar, Moonwatcher? That is good. The Swara can't help but poke some fun. But your moonsister, still has to search for hers. It's a little weak, right now. Ah, if cheetahs could laugh. Fireborn exchanges a look of humor at the Black Cat.

Treecatcher can only stare, now, her yellow furnace eyes burning into the Swara. Her lower jaw hangs parted, stained teeth showing through, her tongue lolling between them in a feline grimace. Her hairs stand on end. Her lashing tail has come to a complete stop. That is good to know, moonbrother, she informs the other kit. But you are not alone. I, too, have my roar. And the once-scraggly kit narrows her eyes on the cheetah, her breath going in with a squeeze. Her jaws wrench open, and the hoarse sound bellows out in fury.

From afar, Treecatcher is using +gift/info submit. Hoo boy ;)

Moonwatcher cringes back from that noise. He canters off a short distance. There's a pause as the sound dies on the air, and then: ... Good, Treecatcher. It doesn't seem like a particularly convincing compliment.

Roars were never much of an important thing where the black cat grew up, the entire conversation is largly lost on him. He blinks at Treecatcher's demonstration, a little nervousness in the tenor of the conversation seeping in. Well, he could see how that could be useful for intimidation, even if he's prefered a simple glare. To each thier own.

Fireborn locks gazes with the lioness, and in a moment's pause the world around comes frighteningly down to that single gaze. For a second before, the Swara feels the lioness, her confidence, her 'royalty'... and then it all comes rushing towards him in a huge, hair-prickling, make-men-wet-their-beds roar. All the cheetah can do, is lower his gaze and freeze in place.

Her confidence, her royalty. The Swara cannot question it now. Who is he to even try. He is a speck, a spot, a bit of grime unfit to be of any significance whatsoever. He is nothing. Utterly nothing. The weight of nothing crushes him, like the whole vast void of space upon his shoulders, a night's sky worth of nothing. And Treecatcher shines, bright as a star, the blinding light of sheer majesty. He had better well Submit.

But to everyone else, she looks rather much the same, however a bit annoyed as she nows chews on an insect biting at her shoulder.

V/\V<--------------------| GIFT INFORMATION: SUBMIT |-------------------->V/\V
Submit: (Simba, Level One) The second trick in a ruler's arsenal is the ability to make his subjects obey whether they want to or not. By mastering their bodies, a Simba can force others to fall to their knees or roll over on their backs in submission.
V/\V<---------------------------->/\/\/\/\/\<---------------------------->V/\V

Moonwatcher continues to look singularly unimpressed. Black Mystery, he says toward the Bubasti, may I ask /what/ you are? I have never seen one such as you.

In some oddly distant way, Fireborn watches himself in the back of his mind. The Simba's gift lingers in his frozen body, up until a point where his instinct of instant appeasing to authority kicks in and he rolls over to 'show throat'. To the others, it would all seem rather silly to see what was a confident Swara suddenly lower status and give in. The effect lasts for seconds, the cheetah quietly held under obedience, and then the Swara feels the weight lifted mercifully. Though his mind returns and he quickly gets up onto his paws to shake off the feeling, he can't help but still gaze at Treecatcher. This time, though, it's with a look of suspicion. The lioness, it seems, has a spark of something in her that Tempest had to have seen to bring out such a gift within her. Then in a snort, he licks the side of his dirt covered muzzle and throws dirt off his short, spotted fur.

Kyphur Cat's eyes flash to Fireborn, then back to the others. That's a trick he's never seen before, and his curiosity is evident. The other lion draws his attention, though. I'm not sure I understand your question, or how I could answer it in a meaningful way. I am a child of the moon, blessed by the waters of the Nile. The rest I do not have words in this language for.

Moonwatcher still looks puzzled, but lets the matter drop. Have you met the King of our pride yet?

Treecatcher gnashes her teeth where a bug devils her, chewing on her fur. She pays little attention beyond her own pelt, unconcerned by these happenings, and increasingly bored by them. However, her body language betrays a certain undeniable flash of pride, a twang of glee for what she has inflicted upon the spotcat.

The impala carcass is all but forgotten now, the vultures gone with only the flies left to pick on its sparse bones. Fireborn continues to stare at the lioness for quite a time, before the others in the area slowly turn the Swara back on a course of living in the real world. An uncomfortable lash of his tail whips at the air about him, and then he trots a few more feet away from the huntress and her 'sorcery'. No doubt the spirits must have taught her something, in their ways his kuasha had said they were very powerful. The cheetah shakes himself once more, inwardly resolving to find this fabled land. And when he does... well. The spotted runner coughs loudly, and dismisses himself from the ragtag bunch. He's had enough action for today... and night calls for rest before a new hunt.

No, though I would like to. I am new here, and still exploring. I don't wish to intrude if I am not welcome. The black cat seems to be use to the dry heat of the savannah and the bugs that come with it. Having a very short coat helps most of the time too.

Moonwatcher watches the spot cat slink off in silence, turning a quick thought toward Treecatcher before he picks up the reply from the Bubasti.