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Feather was born to a cruel pride, the king believing only the purest, best lions could live in it. She was cast out as a cub, resigned to a slow, lonely death. In the distance that same day a fight broke out not far away from where she had been abandoned, sorrowful calls filled the air and the entire pride lands seemed to fall silent. leaves rustled around Feather and she tried to make herself smaller than she already was. Shielding her face she let out a tiny whimper and feared the worse. A warm muzzle pressed into her side and a rough tongue ran over her coat. "How many deaths does this pride want to be responsible for?" An angry voice asked.
Moons later Feather pounced on the tail of her adopted mother, her mama was out hunting and would be back soon. That fateful day many moons ago was little more than a whisper of a memory to her now. She had been taken in by two leopards (Pale Moon That Rises & Song of The Red Hawk) and had grown up knowing a loving family. Her moms were the best and she couldn't imagine life any other way... yet.
Feather was almost ready to accept her full name, she was a strong and clever lioness. Something pulled at her though, everytime she heard a lion's call across the lush lands she would stop whatever she was doing and listen with ears perked. Her mothers noticed and decided it was time to return her to the pride. This would be the second hardest day of their lives.
Feather stood painting over her bloody enemy, she had been visiting one of the prides and when she had returned she found her mothers being attacked by a small group of lionesses. The lead lioness approached her, seeming unafraid of what the tiny terror could accomplish. "I lost my mate not long ago, I have been looking for a new queen for a while. I will promise the protection of your... Companions if you join me."
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Smallfeather growled as she watched her "mate", leader of the pride cuddled against the newcomer. Four seasons had passed since Dezzy had brought the lioness smelling of rabbit into their pride without even talking to the queen. Dezzy never looked at her the way she did Wenet, she didn't even accept a warrior name and Smallfeather did without a second glance! She gave up everything to come live in this pride yet she was treated like a trophy.
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Smallfeather purred at her kit but it sounded hollow almost like one of those two-leg monsters, mechanical. She had two but here she was guarding the smallest, worried at any second her "mate" would decide that her cub wasn't worth keeping. Her descendants wouldn't be worth anything more than pretty breeders, nothing like Wenet's kits. Sparkpaw was already named heir.... She hoped he'd be better than Desdemona.
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dwarfism
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dwarfism
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