Here is the first chapter of my fanfic. Second will be coming in a few
days.

Chapter I: Fessran
	It was morning, and the dew hung off the savanna grass in the
Pridelands. The sun peered over the horizon, checking to make sure no
one was watching, and began its ascent to the zenith, facing Pride Rock.
A solitary figure flowed out of the main cavern, nothing more than a
shadow, and dribbled down the beaten path to the base of the mountain.
	It was a lioness, small and lithe, agile in her own way. She was dark-
darker than even the Hated One who had taken the King’s life, and it was
of no doubt she was his offspring or otherwise from his line. A black
tassel hung off her tail like a sharp accent- the coarse hairs folded
together to make a sort of sharp point. Her ears were dipped at the
edges with dark, dark brown- the same that formed the tearlines down her
nose and the cougar-like stripes on her cheeks. Her paws were booted
with a much lighter brown, and her body a deep mahogany, maybe a shade
more dismal. Her muzzle, throat and underbelly were a deep creamy blond,
making her coat seem all the more dingy. If one looked close, they could
see the remnants of cub spots never quite faded, even in her
adolescence, and the length of her legs, and the fluffiness of her
undercoat. It was obvious that she did not come from the King’s line
alone.
	As one could see her movements were purposeful, one could also sense
her urgency. She moved quickly, but not hastily, and kept the the
shadows, where her dark coat camouflaged her. It was clear, at a glance,
that she did not want to be seen.
	Her eyes seemed to glow bright blue as she padded carefully up to the
base of the Mbeshi mountain, and, not hesitating, entered a crack in the
side of it, neatly concealed by the huge rock ferns of the Western
Forest. They drew back after her and settled there, as if never
disturbed.
	Despite the humid outdoors, the inside of the Mbeshi mountain was
comfortably dry and free of moss or fungus. It was not well lit- rather,
still dark and not yet affected by the dawn’s light. the lioness stopped
momentarily to shake the dew from her feet and then looked around the
cavern. Her heart almost stopped.
	Ledge upon ledge lay a sleeping body, the pride’s bulk taking refuge
from the elements in Amani’s caverns. The inside had been well-marked
with each pride member’s individual scent. She stiffened. She knew, as a
stranger, that she was unwelcome here and must act quickly.
	Her soft paw-pads masked any sound she would make on her climb up the
ledges, and her tail swung to and fro by reflex, balancing her,
preventing any mishaps that might betray her presence. It was from here
she stepped into Yatu’s healing den, where scattered lay clean gourds
smeared with salve, medicinal herbs, leaves to be used as bandages, and
melon that, when opened, would quench a sickbeast’s thirst. She took one
of the gourds of salve and left as quickly as she had come, loping
quietly- with even more gusto and urgency now- out of the mountain,
through the Western Forest and Starlight Lands, across the Southern
Savanna and the waterhole- to the main cavern of Pride Rock.
	An adolescent male lion was stirring in the cavern. His face was the
mask of sleepiness, and he yawned himself awake, turning to nod greeting
to the lioness. She stopped, as if caught in the act of some forbidden
gesture, and smiled back at him almost beseechingly. He propped himself
up on his forequarters and watched her from across the cavern.
	She approached a lioness, well-built, muscly, with sharp features. The
other was big, almost twice as big as herself, but her ribs showed
through her coat and her skin retracted into her cheekbones. Her skin
slid across her ribs as she breathed softly in and out.
	The lioness immediately set the gourd down and smeared some of the
salve on her paw, looking for signs of injury. The male got up.
	“It’s mostly her shoulder, Fess.”
	The dark lioness scraped the salve off her paw and brushed the fur
away.
	On the huge lioness’ shoulder lay four jagged clawmarks, too large to
have been inflicted by a hyena or a cheetah, but too small for a lion.
She supposed it might have been a leopard, but said nothing. The wounds
were puckered and lifted, and pus oozed from them, thick and green. She
could make out dirt embedded deep in the gashes, and knew that they had
clotted before they could be washed.
	She turned to the male. “Why has no one cleaned her? Her wounds- they
heal too fast. She will get an abscess and bleed even more.”
	He shrugged. “She walked well. She told me she was all right and that
she did not need any help. I did not know they were so bad.”
	“You call limping ‘walking well?’”
	“She would not let me look, Fessran.”
	“No wonder she is half-starved. Masika, hold her down in case she wakes
up. I don’t want to be clawed.”
	Fessran went to work on the lioness’ shoulder, chewing away the hairs
and licking at the wounds until they bled freely. At this the larger
lioness grunted and awoke, but Masika whispered to her.
	“It’s all right, Nirobi. She’s cleaning your hurts.”
	She groaned softly and lowered her head. Fessran spared her only a
quick glance.
	At last, when the clawmarks were clean, Fessran licked the blood from
her muzzle and looked up. “The winds are favorable today.”
	“Perhaps you will go hunt?” Masika asked.
	“Perhaps.”
	Nirobi lifted her head. “Am I done?”
	“No. You need to rest here for awhile. Masika will clean your wounds
every so often.”
	The older lioness made a face. “I should be up hunting.”
	“Ptahh! With that shoulder? Your limping will scare every beast from
here to the Serengeti and we will eat air tonight.”
	“I am starved, dark one.”
	“The pride gorges tonight after the hunt.”
	“I do not belong to this pride.” Her tone was sharp and unsentimental.
	Fessran stopped. “Then I’ll bring you some food. Just stay put, will
you?” She grumbled inaudibly and left.


Here is the latest installment of "Spirit." Hope you like it! Keep in
mind Masika hasn't ok'd his character yet....

Fess

Chapter II: Pandja
	The savanna was already getting hot, and the grasses no longer hung low
with dew. Fessran found herself thinking of her own past- or what she
could remember of it. Most of her cubhood was vague, and she found
herself reminiscing the days when she ran free, unburdened, the days not
so long ago. It was the time with Rahepsi she had remembered so little
of, except the crippling of her foreleg, and the abuse he had inflicted
upon her. She angrily shook the memories out of her head. Damn him.
	Fessran had established herself here once she realized she was the
Queen’s aunt, though much younger than she herself. Nala did not accept
her and, Fessran felt, wanted to push her out of the pride altogether.
Simba, her King, was a bit more tolerant, and acted as if Fessran had
always been there, but she could see clearly his disapproval.
	And it was with good reason, too. She looked over her shoulder, down
her sleek back and well-groomed fur. She had been told she looked like
the Hated One, Taka, Scar, by one of the lionesses in Simba’s pride- she
struggled to remember who that lioness was. She remembered she had had a
kind voice, but a little standoffish in tone, as if she couldn’t bear to
be around Fessran.
	She caught sight of a goshawk flying on the horizon and trotted
irritably off in its direction. Her tail swinging behind her, Fessran
padded out to the Southern Savanna, where there was a small herd of
zebras. They were clustered in a tight group, as if something had chased
them... odd. She sneezed at all the dust, but was too far away for the
zebras to hear.
	Fessran circled the herd, looking for her prey- something very old,
very young, sick, weak, or otherwise vulnerable. She spotted a zebra
foal unattended to, and flattened herself in the savanna grasses.
	Suddenly, a huge white figure broke cover and sped after the foal. The
herd scattered immediately, mothers calling frantically to their young
ones. Fessran could hear the squalling of a young zebra as its attacker
dragged it to the ground, but the mother was having none of this. She
charged her foal’s assailant, and the white creature dove backward,
hissing, into the grass. The colt stumbled to its feet, bright red blood
coursing down its hindquarters.
	Fessran saw her chance, with the mother badgering the hissing white
shape and the zebra foal struggling to stand on shaky legs. She ran
forward from her hiding place, taking all three of them by surprise, and
knocked the colt to its side. She delivered a sharp bite to its nape and
it lay, squalling, its legs kicking spasmatically.
	Something rammed into her, and she fell with a shock, the wind knocked
out of her! She had forgotten the mother! The mare reared, preparing to
trample her with its hooves while she lay incompetent, but sharp claws
were digging into her shoulder, hauling her away. She fought it,
stupidly, but the white leonid had left her to make the kill. Out of the
corner of her eye she saw two falling shapes and turned her head to see
the white leap onto his prey’s back and, trying to stay on the bucking,
kicking creature, bite at its throat.
	When both kills lay still, Fessran rolled onto her front and began to
lift herself up, but was knocked on her back by a heavy white paw. She
paddled the air a moment, but the lion leaned on her chest, holding her
down. She looked at him, repulsed and attracted at the same time, and
perhaps he sensed her ambivalence, because he let her go.
	She skittered away, hackles raised, ears flattened in fright and
submission. He let her, nonchalantly grooming a front paw, looking up at
her, and though still held captive in his gaze and not out of danger,
Fessran’s hackles began to relax.
	Finally, he spoke.
	“What brings you to my hunting grounds, lioness?” he asked solemnly, in
his rich deep voice. “I could hold your throat now for making such a
kill.”
	She was at a loss. She backed up a little more like a scared cub,
growling uncertainly.
	“I assumed it was the pride’s.”
	“Amani’s? Obviously your nose doesn’t work. I marked my territory.”
	“I’m new to the pride. And I dunno any Anami. I couldn’t know this
place was yours. I dunno all the pride’s scents yet.”
	“Then you belong to Simba’s pride.” It was more of a statement than a
question. “You look like Sarafina.”
	“I’m her sister,” she said haughtily, standing in a regal position, but
she succeeded only in looking scruffier- her fur was mussed and dirt
clung to her as a result of the fight. “I am of royal blood. If you
should kill me-”
	“I will answer to the king,” the white said, looking rather amused.
“The penalties are equal, aren’t they?”
	Fessran chewed the fur on a paw. “So we are even. Royal blood for a
kill.”
	He nodded and smiled politely, slipping into formal speech. “Your name
is unknown.”
	“This one’s name is Fessran,” she answered automatically.
	“This one is Pandja,” he said. “It is an honor to meet you.”
	“An honor,” she repeated. “Pandja.”
	“May I call you Fess?” he asked, formalities done.
	He seemed somewhat softer now, and Fessran found herself relaxing, then
she stiffened as he spoke her nickname.
	“Only my friends call me that. To the rest I am Fessran.”
	“Am I a friend?” He seemed genuinely interested.
	“Yarr, you attacked that godforsaken stripe-back,” she spat,
contemptuous of the mare.  “I suppose.”
	“Good,” he smiled, resuming the paw-licking. “You have no obligation to
the kill-”
	Her jaw dropped. “But I laid it!”
	“-but if it were not for you, both our bellies would be empty right
now, and perhaps I would be wounded.”
	“So I may eat?”
	Pandja gestured. “The foal is yours. Please understand I would give you
an equal share, but I have a family to feed.”
	She smiled wistfully. “Perhaps that will be my case someday.”
	They ate of the kills where they lay, not speaking. The caw of
hornbills and piercing music of the savanna birds were punctuated by the
snapping of bones and an occasional burp. Fessran finished long before
Pandja, however, and began to drag the rest of the kill away. Pandja
looked up, scuffed some dirt over his own, and picked up a hind leg.
Together they lifted it. Fessran shot him a grateful look and they
carried it to the edge of the savanna.
	He dropped his end at the waterhole. “I’m afraid I can help you no
further,” he said. “I am an adult male lion, and my presence would be
looked upon as a challenge to King Simba.”
	Fessran smiled. “You’ve done enough, thank you, Pandja.”
	He nodded his welcome, then gazed away thoughtfully. “You said
something earlier that indicated you do not have a mate.”
	She nodded. “I don’t.”
	“I know of a young male who would like to meet your acquaintance.”
	She squinted at him. “Hedaya? Masika?”
	“Gwenth. My son.”
	She spat again. “That no-good sonofajackal....”
	Pandja began to laugh. “I see you’ve met.”
	“The hell we haven’t. He can take his swooning females and drown them
in the waterhole.”
	“’Sika’s mother again?”
	She snorted. “He won’t leave Zuili alone. And after Simba and I
finished pulling him and Masika apart, he took me down to the waterhole
and began to speak to me of Masika’s problems. He was flirting, too.”
	“Perhaps he likes you,” Pandja suggested gently.
	“Yes, in the same way he likes a lioness twice his age.”
	Pandja could see the volume of Fessran’s temper now, and changed the
subject. “You are dragging that back for your king?”
	She saw the clever diversion and lolled her tongue out at him. “A sick
nomad lioness in Pride Rock.”
	“What’s her name?”
	Fessran peered at him, asking with her eyes why he was so nosy. He
chuckled at her.
	“You must understand, I am not allowed into Simba’s lands. The
questioning of others is the only way I gain information.”
	She nodded again and sighed. “Nirobi, I think.”
	He considered this a moment, then turned tail to go. “It was nice to
meet you, Fessran.”
	“The pleasure was mine,” she called after him, and began to drag her
kill to Pride Rock.