Thunder Over the Mountain

Chapter One-Succession

The sun was high and hot. It was hard to remember a time when it had not been.

The Clan's den was in a spot that, in the rainy season, would have had puddles of water nearby-if not the occasional flood. It was an old aardvark burrow that had been expanded by generations of cubs, left out int the open, flat lands. But now all that was left was putrid standing mud with flies dribbling around it.

No one had complained though. It didn't really occur to anyone. Clan mates rolled in it, thankful for the moment that it shielded them from the unforgiving sun, and seemed to coat their wounds.

There was a general consensus that this last habit probably did more harm then good.

This was Thorn's clan, of Skywater territory. Named for its serene pools that reflected the clouds and stars above.

When it actually rained of course.

The line of land connecting to that turquoise sky was bright, yellow, dusty. Filled with dead grass. Broken by the occasional grouping of scraggly sharp trees, still somehow weakly green in the heat, almost resilient to the conditions below.

Thorn was, naturally, named for those trees.

Her mother was Cut-a very plain and curt name for such a powerful individual. Cut was the Clan leader, large, scarred, and occasionally vain, brutal and unpredictable. Her lineage had never been dethroned for as far as anyone could remember. Her wide head was leathery and almost furless, her ear had a split in it, and her full spotted hide had only a few patches missing. Scars, once healed-over, could be a type of beauty mark to fully fledged queens-a terrifying sight for enemy clans or lone bachelor lions.

Thorn's father had been a favorite-Myrr. He died from being gored in the side by a cape buffalo. A favorite, but no one particularly missed him. He wasn't that important.

Thorn was also large, but generally ditzy. She was sheltered, in a sense. The norm for a clan came with a lot of bullying, scarring, scraping. Weaklings often didn't make it past their first year, their integration into the clan after birth being one of the hardest times in their lives. Or perhaps, a beginning of the hardest times. No one commented on this, and though there was often malicious intent, there was no real discussion over it. Perhaps Thorn's clan was more intense than any other ever heard of. But they had not heard of those other clans. Here, it was normal. It had been for generations.

At any rate, Thorn was sheltered. First daughter of the queen, and if any lower rank pup or adult had even looked at her wrong they would have to face the wrath of Cut and her hunting party. And there was no force on the plains that would be worse than them. As a result, thorn had grown a full coat, speckled and blotched, and her ears had not yet been torn, her mane full, her tail thick and brush-like to repel flies. The status was her aid, but she was young, and had not been on too many hunts or scavenging parties as of yet. Only alerted by her mother after the fact, and given second-choice (the first being, of course, Cut herself).

Cut was going to change this. Soon.

Skywater Clan faced many dangers. Cut was aware that she had slacked off with her cub somewhat. She had one because she figured she'd probably need one eventually, but had no concrete plans for succession. She was, after all, "Unkillable Cut". It wasn't that she wasn't aware of death-her own hunting party often dropped like flies-but she often in the heat of the moment felt invincible. But it would be good to have back up for the meantime. Unfortunately, even her favorite hunting party members-Brush and Smoke, were more experienced that her own cub! Not having a successor, she could live with. This blow to her reputation, she would not allow any longer.

Thorn lay on top of the main den rock, sniffing at the air and sky, thinking of something abstract and distant. Cut approached her, breaking her off from her reverie.

"Thorn!" She barked.

Thorn nearly fell off the rock.

Scrabbling to her feet, she answered shakily.

"Yes mother?"

"You're going on a walk with me." Cut turned and headed into the distance towards a shaded tree line.

"Oh...okay..."

Thorn scrabbled off and padded after.

There was silence for a few seconds before they got out of earshot of the rest of the clan.

"Thorn. You have to stop screwing up."

"I...I do?"

"I'm taking you hunting and scavenging with me this next moon. Alone. I will assess you at every turn, and I will not be gentle."

"You rarely are..." Thorn mumbled.

"What was that?" Cut turned her massive neck and looked her dead in the eyes.

Thorn could never hold her gaze.

"Nothing."

Cut sighed. A surprisingly genuine sigh.

"Thorn. The borders towards the gorge are being pushed. By the Croc Clan. Towards Sunset-lands, by cowardly lion rejects that keep stealing kills. If we don't send a message to either, we'll have vagabonds raiding our dens, and lions harassing us every night and day."

Thorn stayed silent. It was usually the best course of action. But she turned her head and neck towards her mother to indicate her attention.

"If you don't step up and take your training, we'll be vulnerable."

"I understand."

"Do you? I don't exactly see you doing anything productive."

"Well, you don't invite—"

"I've always given you plenty of opportunities to learn, that's not my fault!" Cut snapped.

Thorn clamped her jaws shut. Don't engage, she thought to herself. Don't argue.

Cut was silent a moment. Then shook her head casually, her split ear flopping, then both ears sticking straight out to the side of her wide, battered head.

"Come. We're going to do some sparring. Maybe we'll go after something, if you're lucky."