In the Dawn's Light

In the Dawn's Light is a fanfiction story by A Friendly Lion.

Story
“Hujambo, Hodari.”

“Sijambo.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Hello, Elewa.”

“Hi there, King Hodari!”

“Shouldn’t you be with your mother, Magharibi?”

“Hodari, there’s trouble with the dogs again.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Enjoy your walk.”

“I plan to.”

King Hodari II responded to the greetings and gripes of his pridemates with hardly a thought. Though he cared deeply for each and every one of them, he was not one to express it, especially not early in the morning when he sought nothing but a restful stroll to banish all traces of somnolence from his being. He knew he was not looking his most kingly at the moment- his mane lying in sepia ravels atop his head and around his neck, his flanks covered in earth where he lied upon the floor of his den during his slumber, and his eyes, usually limpid orbs of ochre, cloudy and turbid with lingering fatigue. However, he happened to be worrying very little about his appearance. Let them behold the enervate slouch of the posture of their esteemed, venerable, august potentate. For the time being, it did not bother him.

Hodari had lost his father only one month prior when a savage buffalo had charged and killed him. The pride’s formidable huntresses had been sent out to deal with the problem, and had done so accordingly. . . at the loss of their illustrious leader, Uzoefu. Burdened by dolor, Hodari’s attempts to lionize the surviving huntresses for their laudable defeat of the brute had all been rather halfhearted. He could cope with, and had handled in the past, two successive demises within the group, but it was rather more taxing when the deaths were that of his kin and the pride’s most prominent figure except for Hodari himself. In response to his sorrow, Hodari had become more reserved and closed off, speaking to others exclusively when his duty as ruler called for it. Since then, he had improved in that he replied to basic salutations and the like, but he still felt rather hollow inside.

Having shaken off his well-meaning subjects, he strode down the hill on which the lions of the xeric region known as the Drylands had made their home when his grandfather, King Hodari I, reigned. Hodari Senior had been the first king of the pride, settling in a stretch of grassland with a few local lionesses after undertaking a famous trek through the Imeatuka Desert. Perhaps, Hodari thought to himself, he should have considered more carefully the place where he would begin his pride. A place without buffaloes and dogs and lions who require their king to be the most extroverted hail-fellow-well-met lion in the entire savannah.

The veld spilled out ahead of him, yellow and parched by the lucent white face of the sun. The horizon was flat and distant, completely unchanged in color from the area where Hodari stood. It was all the same- dry, desultory, and dead, or at least on the way there. The only glimmer of life was the shining outfall of the Mkondo River, the light dancing off its pellucid waters. Hodari could see various ungulate species gathered upon its pebbly strands, their hooves caressed by the shallow waves that rolled lazily towards the land before sliding back into the mere once more. As he observed, an eland calf plashed the waterhole with lanky limbs, snorting in surprise when liquid sprayed upward into his nostrils.

With a soft sigh, Hodari drifted deeper into the grassland, the tall stalks brushing his golden coat. In the spring, if a smattering of rain happened to bedew the area, their touch was as gentle and light as the caress of a fledgling wing, but the lack of precipitation has stolen every trace of softness from them. Each plant jabbed at his pelt like the claw of an enemy lion, burying themselves in his fur and digging into his skin. Frustrated, he snapped at one long spray as it neared him, realizing to late that it belonged to a thorn-bearing shrub. Spitting the sharp barbs out of his mouth, he batted at the bush in a rage, prompting more prickles to engulf themselves in his flesh like the stingers of bees. He knew that he was being quite impractical, which was very out of character for him indeed. However, he had been driven to his limit by his own mental recollections of recent events. With his forepaw he delivered a dozen hefty thwacks to the brier, letting pain and misery control his actions.

“King Hodari?” queried a shy voice.