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The time of omens has arrived once again, and as Barnabas Avalon stared past the darkening dusk sky, searching the clouds for some sign the Harbringer had left him, he became aware of muted, quiet paw steps close by. His gaze ripped from the heavens, and he scanned the horizon, looking for the source of the noise. It was either dinner or death regardless, he mused to himself.
Among the bundles of tall grass, he caught a rustling and just a hint of a shadow. Barnabas sneered and leapt from his perch on the highest rock overlooking the valley. He landed on his feet softly, as quiet as the swift death he was prepared to deal to whatever poor soul had crossed his path.
As he crept through the tall grass, trying to get even the faintest scent of what laid ahead for him, he heard a low growl from behind. He whirled to find an adolescent male crouched in a mock attacking pose behind him. The faint dying lights of the sunset caught onto his mane and revealed the bright fire-like hue that melted into a blood red. His pelt was dotted with light and dark splotches on a deep red backdrop, which made much more sense as to how he was able to slip past the old king like a shadow.
For a moment, Barnabas Avalon wondered if the younger lion was yet another omen, another test, from the Harbringer. The youth wasn't from Barnabas Avalon's pride. He would have recognized any of his own cubs or sub males instantly.
This youth was much more quiet, much more patient than anyone in his pride. There was something in the way the adolescent held himself, that Barnabas recognized as a reflection of who he had been as a youth.
His tail flicked with irritation at the notion that he'd been as impudent as this youth at one point. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The youth sat on his haunches before yawning, revealing much longer fangs than Barnabas Avalon had ever seen on a lion before. "Kingfisher Redding," he said a moment later, staring at Barnabas intently. "I've come to seek training under you."
Barnabas nearly laughed out loud. "Me?" he said. "There are hundreds, thousands of other prides you could have chosen to go to. What makes you think coming to me was your best decision?"
"You see them too, don't you?" Kingfisher asked, before nodding towards the skies once more. "The omens that the Harbringer sends? You're not young anymore, and I'm sure you are well aware of it."
Barnabas let out a quiet growl under his breath.
"I've been watching you for weeks; you and the rest of your pride. I know I am only a stranger to you, but I can be your greatest asset in these coming days. You are free to follow after the Harbringer, complete his tasks . . . and I can take care of your pride."
Barnabas narrowed his eyes and scowled at the youth. "You're not even old enough to be a sub male," he said. "How could I ever trust someone so young to watch over my pride?"
Kingfisher shrugged before standing to stretch. His abnormally long claws flexed out as he reached forward with his front legs, and for the first time, Barnabas realized that the youth was much, much different than any adolescent he'd seen in his pride. True, there had been Blizzard, born months before a stark white like snow, and his own queen, Auroratlas, who had shaggy long fur . . . but this youth was much different than either of those abnormalities.
"You're a primal," Barnabas said, in a voice so quiet he barely heard it himself. He'd heard rumors and stories passed between the lionesses and lions he'd run across during his explorations, and he was aware that much like the leopons and tigons that roamed the plains and jungles . . . primals were different. Special.
"I am," Kingfisher replied, taking a step back as though he'd changed his mind about his offer.
"You seem afraid," Barnabas said.
"You certainly don't mince words," Kingfisher replied. "Not every pride looks at primals in a kind light. They think we're too scary, too dangerous." Kingfisher flexed his claws once more as he glanced out into the fields to the left of them. "I only want to find myself a home and to prove I am worthy of it."
"This still doesn't answer the question of why MY pride," Barnabas pointed out.
Kingfisher's tail flicked nervously, before, in a soft, gentle voice, he replied, "Tia."
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