the birds scatter from the trees, the impala bolt far too early, and that silence that follows is thick. the lioness feels the bubbling of agitation that comes with a lost meal.
ungha, ungha, ungha.
lion-blood boasting, song she had heard many times in her years of life. it had went ignored often, but nhova rises with the reed song and feels a sway in her muscles. stocky, mature legs coiling with pulsing muscle as she swings her berth upwards and begins a slow stalk.
her nose sensitive to the musk of the male and the sweet marula of the lioness called asha. nhova feels a grumble bubble to life within her own throat. clipped, rounded ears rolling back against thick fluff gathered between and half-lidded eyes searching.
she appears last. each thudding pawstep accompanied by the toss of dust airborn, pluming in great clouds. a long and bitten tail swatting viciously against her own powerful flanks, and a pallid tongue seeking the dried meal blood upon her mandible.
finding asha’s side and pressing harshly muscle to muscle upon the smaller lioness. nhova walking now with the confident strides of a challenger male; but her scent tells otherwise, and she wafts it with each aggressive slap of her tail.
look… child of arrogance.she says throatily to asha’s ear.