Post by Shomoro on Jun 9, 2008 3:40:05 GMT -5
Note: Waset's death was never actually RPed out, though it was scheduled to be. Regardless, this scene, obviously, takes place after she passes away.
Mizuka and Kisehemu are horrible gossips at heart.
Involved:
Sammar, Guard of Kivuli
Amahl, Prince of Tyne
Mizuka, King of Kivuli
Kisehemu, Knight of Kivuli
Kivuli - Foothills
Darkness still shrouds the valleys of Kivuli, but on the plain dawn has already broken. The sun isn't far up, yet; only the top of it peeks over the flat horizon to the east, but it still casts enough light to illuminate the pale, slender form of a lion heading for the foothills. He walks alone, and his steps are dragging, his entire body hanging low as though some huge weight's been placed upon his back.
Although he's been spending more time in the central Kivuli lands, Sammar's out now, patrolling, tail curling over his back-- a brisk stroll. He's eaten, but not recently enough for it to make him sleepy, so he's in rather a decent mood. The first faint touches of light spill over the plains, shining off of the low mist on the ground and making it seem almost solid. At first, the dull pale form plodding along throws Sammar off when he sees it, and he pauses, ears back. And they -stay- back when he sees it -is- another cat, another male, and he roars, a warnning, low hoarse grunting rumble. Not subtle, is he?
Whoever it is, he's either distracted or extraordinarily inattentive; he gives a little twitch, but other than that doesn't even acknowledge the guard's call of warning. Eventually he does look up, his golden eyes betraying confusion and a dull sort of surprise. But he keeps moving, and as the mystery rogue draws closer Sammar might be able to identify him as Amahl. A very, very unhappy-looking Amahl.
Sammar is starting to display allt he signs of a serioudsly pissed lion by the time he gets close enough to see who it is, but when he -does-, he goes, "Amahl--" and his hostile body language collapses, although his pace, if anything, -quickens-. "Amahl!" pleased as punch to see the younger male, although, and he realizes this only as he comes up alongside the other, Amahl looks more or less flat.
It's only when Sammar practically starts charging at him that his slow movement comes to a halt. Amahl knows what bared fangs mean; there isn't an animal alive who doesn't. And yet, he doesn't retaliate or back away. His ears sink flat to match the rest of him, and he lowers his head a bit more, but that's all. "Hi," he mumbles only after he's sure that the other male's identified him, not meeting Sammar's eyes. He was gone for a very, very long time, and something must have changed, or happened, because he doesn't sound at all like his usual self.
"What's wrong?" he's tense at once, and nosing against Amahl's side, inhaling, smelling him all over-- those puffy inhalations and exhalations are accompanied by his nosings, which are quite rough, although he doesn't mean for them to be. Mizuka had seemed tired, and now-- well. Amahl isn't happy either! What -is- this!
Amahl certainly /smells/ fine--of himself and other lions, likely his own pride. There aren't any strange odours on his fur, nothing outwardly wrong. And yet, when Sammar noses him the foreign prince turns at once, burying his face against the other's shoulder. "Hi," he repeats, his voice gone quavery with upset. "I'm glad to see /you/. My mother, she--" He trails off into a miserable, choked sob. Quite unbecoming for a male his age, but he's beyond caring if he ever cared at all.
Well he doesn't -smell- off, but-- Sammar starts briefly when Amahl shoves his face against the other's shoulders, and then licks the back of the other's neck, and his shoulders. "-Oh--" remembering-- hadn't the king's knight said something about this? "I'm sorry--" so -that's- it. "I'm so sorry--"
"A week ago--" That's as far as he gets before that thin, wavering voice breaks up completely, dissolving into a little whimper instead. He's pressed his body close, trying desperately to seek out some sort of comfort, but--why is he /here/? Why isn't he back with his siblings and his remaining parent in their time of grief? "--Mizuka needed to know, our prides are allies, somebody had to tell him and I wanted--" The words, already muffled against Sammar's fur, are hard to understand; his body's wracked with deep, whuffling sobs and they've broken everything up, made it even harder for him to force the words out. Amahl's breath hitches, and he nuzzles hard into the guard's shoulder, probably something he'd do with Waset if she was still alive. It is a comfort, if a small and rather childish one; the repetitive motion of it is soothing to many cats, and this one is apparently no exception.
And Sammar, as things to nuzzle against go, is a fairly good one: he's big, warm, and while he hasn't got a mane, he's got that scruff. "Why are you here? You shouldn't have come back if you didn't want to--" trying tobe gentle, his voice gruff. He rests his big head against Amahl's, and then licks the top of the younger male's, and again when Amahl nuzzles into him. "Well she's up in the stars, now-- it's all right--"
"I wanted to," Amahl manages, and that's it for awhile, aside from those little sounds of grief. Gradually he just sort of falls back onto his haunches, but he keeps close, still continuing those nuzzles, over and over again, an absent, mindless attempt to calm himself down. His chest feels tight, his heart fluttering unpleasantly, but he's not exerting himself physically--if he was, on top of all the emotional stress he's going through, he might collapse. "--You--" And silence again, the younger male leaning on him, curling a paw around his foreleg, of all things--Amahl is /clinging/.
Sammar isn't quite sure how to respond to this-- so he just leans back, and follows Amahl's lead, settling onto his own haunches when the other does, and from there sinking gradually to his belly. His tongue is constant, rough and repetitious against Amahl's head, neck, shoulders, face. "It's all right. Your mother is just up in the stars now, and I'm glad you're back-- we all are--"
Which means Amahl goes down, too, and when his side touches the ground he curls himself up into a tight little lump, seeming in that moment even smaller than he actually is. He shoves his head under Sammar's chin after awhile. That's all that will fit, though. He's /much/ too big to be sitting between anyone's paws now, but he wishes he wasn't. He feels like a lost cub; he misses cuddling up against his mother and asking her pointless questions that had seemed, at the time, very important to him. "I want her back," he insists miserably, but of course that won't change anything.
Amahl -is- only half-grown, isn't he? Poor thing. He probably hasn't even noticed girls yet. Sammar gently stretches his paw over the smaller male's back, pressing in close next to him, and when Amahl thrusts his head under the older animal's chin, Sammar gives his face a lick and presses in nearer. "I'm sorry," is all he can say to -that-, and, "She's watching you though--"
"Oh, that's just some old /legend/." Amahl spits it, his face twisted into a grimace of almost physical pain. But his crying's ebbed a bit, if only because of that sudden surge of anger; his words are much more understandable than they were a few minutes ago. "She told me about it. The Great Kings. They're not /real/. And even if they were, where are the Great Queens? She was better than /any/ of them!" This is stated with all the conviction of a child who loved his mother very, very much. It had been painfully clear before, of course, but he seems almost hostile to the idea of those old dead monarchs now. Why should /their/ stories get passed down to almost everyone? Who's going to tell future generations about /his/ family? He moves, suddenly, shoving his nose underneath Sammar's chest, curling up a little tighter. Somehow that's better, more secure.
-- Well, d**n. "-- No, the queens are up there too-- all of the ancestors, it's all right-- she's not gone. And you can name one of your cubs after her-- so she'll come around again." Poor boy. He -is- very young. Sammar stretches his neck out to groom farther down along Amahl's back. "She's not gone at -all-. She'll watch out for you all the time now."
"She could do that just fine when she was /alive/," Amahl protests muffledly, and draws his shoulders up, stiff. It's a long time before those sobs and other little noises of grief taper off, but they do eventually--out of exhaustion if nothing else. And finally, some of that horrible, knotted tension starts to drain from his body, but he's gone silent. Either he's too worn out to say anything or he's outright dozed off, which could be merciful for him. He can't think about Waset dying if he's asleep, after all.
"Well she can do it just fine now, too--s he's not gone, just different." He's worried-- Amahl isn't strong, physically, andsurely this isn't good for him. So when at last he feels the other's smaller body begin to relax, -he- relaxes too, the swift frenetic quality of his grooming beginnig to t slow.
Amahl doesn't say anything in response, or even stir--which would seem to support the theory that he's fallen asleep. Well, that still doesn't answer the question of why he wanted to return to Kivuli instead of staying with his birth pride, but at least he's calmed down. A little. For the moment.
He -has-, and Sammar gradually leaves off grooming. His patrol has been interrupted but he doesn't care too much-- honestly, it's Amahl! He's -terribly pleased that the other male is back-- and with them rather than with his own pride, although -that's- odd, isn't it? From the sound ofi t, Amahl was -very- happy there-- and surely he'd have been better off with his family, grieving. But he's -here- and Sammar's -very- pleased about that. He adjusts his position, to curl around the other a little.
Amahl, predictably, doesn't move; he /is/ tired, both from emotional stress and the fact that, although he didn't exert himself to the point of collapsing on his way over, he'd apparently travelled all night to get here. He seems quite happy where he is as the sun continues to crawl above the horizon--and, as its light finally illuminates even the most shadowy sections of Kivuli, the second border patrol of the day shows up. Though Mizuka and Kisehemu usually take subsequent shifts rather than concurrent ones, they're both making their way out to the eastern border today. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that the king is still feeling a little under the weather, though not enough to make him stop his daily routine.
Sammar, by this time, has dropped into a doze himself. This will be a poor place to nap as the sun climbs higher, but it's cool, if humid, for now, and Sammar has begunto snore, softly, by the time the rising sun hits his face. It wakes him, though, and he startles a little before lifting his head, yawning hugely, teeth showing.
Their approach is virtually soundless; they're not talking much, although it's a companionable sort of silence. Mizuka will stop every so often to mark something--a bush, a rock, a long patch of grass. Oh, the exciting life of a male in charge of a pride. It's only as they're coming down the foothills that the odd amalgamation of Sammar and Amahl becomes easily noticeable. Mizuka halts, and so his knight does as well; and the two of them exchange rather bemused looks at the sight. "Is that the Tyne prince?" Kisehemu wonders aloud as Sammar's head lifts, apparently not noticing that at least one of them has woken up.
"I think so." Mizuka's nose wrinkles. "So he's back, then. What have they been doing out here?"
"I called it, Master Mizuka," the knight declares, wearing a little smirk now. "You owe me a double shift tomorrow." And off he goes, stepping high and light, to mark one of the boulders.
Mizuka snorts after him half-heartedly, his tail curling up over his back as he watches the older male retreat. Oblivious, to all appearances, of both the fact that Sammar is awake /and/ that the deadpan but almost gossipy little exchange sounds quite abnormal from either one of them.
Sammar swings his head around to have a look when he hears voices-- he doesn't at first connect them with Kisehemu and Mizuka, the words are so out of place, and he snorts sharply, whiskers bristling and lips lifting away from his teeth. He carefully extricates himself from Amahl,trying hard not to wake him, and huffs out a low grunting greeting-- a little growly, just a -shade-. He doesn't like the idea of being thesubject of a bet.
Amahl makes a low sound, protesting, and rouses a little. Soon, though, he goes limp again--apparently it didn't wake him up all the way. The others take more notice, of course. "Good morning, Sammar." Kisehemu sounds friendly, even pleased--then again, maybe he would be, since he'd won whatever they were betting on. "We were wondering where you'd gotten off to when you didn't report back. Reuniting with your diplomat, were you?" Done with the boulder, he leans himself carefully against a patch that /doesn't/ stink of lion piss and regards the male with quirked brows.
Sammar regards himfor a moment, brows knitting slowly together. "I heard yuo and your little -bet-. Leave the boy alone; his mother just died." He's grumpy, but there is, sliding underneath it, a species of amusement. "Regardless. His mother died-- he said he came back to let you know." This a little puzzled.
Well, that kind of ruins things. The little smirk slips off his face, and he exchanges another glance with Mizuka--equally puzzled when he hears that last. "...It's an important event, like the coronation of a new ruler," the Kivulian king offers, but he sounds rather bemused. "It wouldn't be unusual for our allies to notify us, but--why send /him/? He must be mourning." Certainly the last thing Mizuka had wanted to do after /his/ father's death was talk to anyone, much less go off to tell people what had happened.
Sammar rolls his shoulders forward in a shrug. "He wanted to be here, I suppose. He said he wanted to." Puzzled, as well. "But he's -back-, so I suppose that's all right-- get him out of there." Glancing back at the slumbering cat. "He's got some kind of-- problem, you know." Stern. "So he's got to be a diplomat-- maybe that's why; give him something to do."
"I know why he came here originally." Mizuka glances at him as well, his ears tipping back. "But why would an adolescent his age want to come back and resume his training right after his mother died? Unless..." He trails off, looking at Kisehemu again. "...Well, never mind," he concludes, perhaps realising it's best not to get into it right now. "Wake him up, then. He can rest somewhere off of the borders where it's safer." He turns to go, apparently set to resume his patrol. "Offer my condolences to him, if you like. We won't be back until evening."
"I will." Sammar takes a step forward to bump his nose against Mizuka's shoulder, jerk his chin at Kisehemu and do the same to to him, in passing. "I will. I was going to just let him sleep awhile-- then take him. He needs to rest. We'll see you later." Yes, -we-. Amahl is -his- charge, after all.
For that, at least, Mizuka pauses--and he returns the little nudge, probably remembering the way Sammar had tried to look after him when he was feeling worse than he does at the moment. "There's a smaller cavern," he notes, "halfway up the cliff path. If it starts raining he can shelter in there if he'd prefer to be alone." Somebody like Amahl shouldn't be out in the middle of a downpour, more than likely. If he's really that frail, he could catch a bad chill.
"Good. I'll keep an eye on him." Glancing back towards that slender snoozing form. "Thank you." He gives himself a bit of a shake, and takes a few steps back, heading over to the other lion-- not to rouse him but the settle around him, protective.
"You're welcome." Mizuka gives one last, considering look to them both before he sets off on his way again, Kisehemu following him. Well, this was rather unexpected. Is he going to have to send another knight off to Tyne to return their errant prince? Perhaps. He'll speak with Amahl before he does anything of the sort, but that'll have to wait until their patrols are done for the day.
Mizuka and Kisehemu are horrible gossips at heart.
Involved:
Sammar, Guard of Kivuli
Amahl, Prince of Tyne
Mizuka, King of Kivuli
Kisehemu, Knight of Kivuli
Kivuli - Foothills
Darkness still shrouds the valleys of Kivuli, but on the plain dawn has already broken. The sun isn't far up, yet; only the top of it peeks over the flat horizon to the east, but it still casts enough light to illuminate the pale, slender form of a lion heading for the foothills. He walks alone, and his steps are dragging, his entire body hanging low as though some huge weight's been placed upon his back.
Although he's been spending more time in the central Kivuli lands, Sammar's out now, patrolling, tail curling over his back-- a brisk stroll. He's eaten, but not recently enough for it to make him sleepy, so he's in rather a decent mood. The first faint touches of light spill over the plains, shining off of the low mist on the ground and making it seem almost solid. At first, the dull pale form plodding along throws Sammar off when he sees it, and he pauses, ears back. And they -stay- back when he sees it -is- another cat, another male, and he roars, a warnning, low hoarse grunting rumble. Not subtle, is he?
Whoever it is, he's either distracted or extraordinarily inattentive; he gives a little twitch, but other than that doesn't even acknowledge the guard's call of warning. Eventually he does look up, his golden eyes betraying confusion and a dull sort of surprise. But he keeps moving, and as the mystery rogue draws closer Sammar might be able to identify him as Amahl. A very, very unhappy-looking Amahl.
Sammar is starting to display allt he signs of a serioudsly pissed lion by the time he gets close enough to see who it is, but when he -does-, he goes, "Amahl--" and his hostile body language collapses, although his pace, if anything, -quickens-. "Amahl!" pleased as punch to see the younger male, although, and he realizes this only as he comes up alongside the other, Amahl looks more or less flat.
It's only when Sammar practically starts charging at him that his slow movement comes to a halt. Amahl knows what bared fangs mean; there isn't an animal alive who doesn't. And yet, he doesn't retaliate or back away. His ears sink flat to match the rest of him, and he lowers his head a bit more, but that's all. "Hi," he mumbles only after he's sure that the other male's identified him, not meeting Sammar's eyes. He was gone for a very, very long time, and something must have changed, or happened, because he doesn't sound at all like his usual self.
"What's wrong?" he's tense at once, and nosing against Amahl's side, inhaling, smelling him all over-- those puffy inhalations and exhalations are accompanied by his nosings, which are quite rough, although he doesn't mean for them to be. Mizuka had seemed tired, and now-- well. Amahl isn't happy either! What -is- this!
Amahl certainly /smells/ fine--of himself and other lions, likely his own pride. There aren't any strange odours on his fur, nothing outwardly wrong. And yet, when Sammar noses him the foreign prince turns at once, burying his face against the other's shoulder. "Hi," he repeats, his voice gone quavery with upset. "I'm glad to see /you/. My mother, she--" He trails off into a miserable, choked sob. Quite unbecoming for a male his age, but he's beyond caring if he ever cared at all.
Well he doesn't -smell- off, but-- Sammar starts briefly when Amahl shoves his face against the other's shoulders, and then licks the back of the other's neck, and his shoulders. "-Oh--" remembering-- hadn't the king's knight said something about this? "I'm sorry--" so -that's- it. "I'm so sorry--"
"A week ago--" That's as far as he gets before that thin, wavering voice breaks up completely, dissolving into a little whimper instead. He's pressed his body close, trying desperately to seek out some sort of comfort, but--why is he /here/? Why isn't he back with his siblings and his remaining parent in their time of grief? "--Mizuka needed to know, our prides are allies, somebody had to tell him and I wanted--" The words, already muffled against Sammar's fur, are hard to understand; his body's wracked with deep, whuffling sobs and they've broken everything up, made it even harder for him to force the words out. Amahl's breath hitches, and he nuzzles hard into the guard's shoulder, probably something he'd do with Waset if she was still alive. It is a comfort, if a small and rather childish one; the repetitive motion of it is soothing to many cats, and this one is apparently no exception.
And Sammar, as things to nuzzle against go, is a fairly good one: he's big, warm, and while he hasn't got a mane, he's got that scruff. "Why are you here? You shouldn't have come back if you didn't want to--" trying tobe gentle, his voice gruff. He rests his big head against Amahl's, and then licks the top of the younger male's, and again when Amahl nuzzles into him. "Well she's up in the stars, now-- it's all right--"
"I wanted to," Amahl manages, and that's it for awhile, aside from those little sounds of grief. Gradually he just sort of falls back onto his haunches, but he keeps close, still continuing those nuzzles, over and over again, an absent, mindless attempt to calm himself down. His chest feels tight, his heart fluttering unpleasantly, but he's not exerting himself physically--if he was, on top of all the emotional stress he's going through, he might collapse. "--You--" And silence again, the younger male leaning on him, curling a paw around his foreleg, of all things--Amahl is /clinging/.
Sammar isn't quite sure how to respond to this-- so he just leans back, and follows Amahl's lead, settling onto his own haunches when the other does, and from there sinking gradually to his belly. His tongue is constant, rough and repetitious against Amahl's head, neck, shoulders, face. "It's all right. Your mother is just up in the stars now, and I'm glad you're back-- we all are--"
Which means Amahl goes down, too, and when his side touches the ground he curls himself up into a tight little lump, seeming in that moment even smaller than he actually is. He shoves his head under Sammar's chin after awhile. That's all that will fit, though. He's /much/ too big to be sitting between anyone's paws now, but he wishes he wasn't. He feels like a lost cub; he misses cuddling up against his mother and asking her pointless questions that had seemed, at the time, very important to him. "I want her back," he insists miserably, but of course that won't change anything.
Amahl -is- only half-grown, isn't he? Poor thing. He probably hasn't even noticed girls yet. Sammar gently stretches his paw over the smaller male's back, pressing in close next to him, and when Amahl thrusts his head under the older animal's chin, Sammar gives his face a lick and presses in nearer. "I'm sorry," is all he can say to -that-, and, "She's watching you though--"
"Oh, that's just some old /legend/." Amahl spits it, his face twisted into a grimace of almost physical pain. But his crying's ebbed a bit, if only because of that sudden surge of anger; his words are much more understandable than they were a few minutes ago. "She told me about it. The Great Kings. They're not /real/. And even if they were, where are the Great Queens? She was better than /any/ of them!" This is stated with all the conviction of a child who loved his mother very, very much. It had been painfully clear before, of course, but he seems almost hostile to the idea of those old dead monarchs now. Why should /their/ stories get passed down to almost everyone? Who's going to tell future generations about /his/ family? He moves, suddenly, shoving his nose underneath Sammar's chest, curling up a little tighter. Somehow that's better, more secure.
-- Well, d**n. "-- No, the queens are up there too-- all of the ancestors, it's all right-- she's not gone. And you can name one of your cubs after her-- so she'll come around again." Poor boy. He -is- very young. Sammar stretches his neck out to groom farther down along Amahl's back. "She's not gone at -all-. She'll watch out for you all the time now."
"She could do that just fine when she was /alive/," Amahl protests muffledly, and draws his shoulders up, stiff. It's a long time before those sobs and other little noises of grief taper off, but they do eventually--out of exhaustion if nothing else. And finally, some of that horrible, knotted tension starts to drain from his body, but he's gone silent. Either he's too worn out to say anything or he's outright dozed off, which could be merciful for him. He can't think about Waset dying if he's asleep, after all.
"Well she can do it just fine now, too--s he's not gone, just different." He's worried-- Amahl isn't strong, physically, andsurely this isn't good for him. So when at last he feels the other's smaller body begin to relax, -he- relaxes too, the swift frenetic quality of his grooming beginnig to t slow.
Amahl doesn't say anything in response, or even stir--which would seem to support the theory that he's fallen asleep. Well, that still doesn't answer the question of why he wanted to return to Kivuli instead of staying with his birth pride, but at least he's calmed down. A little. For the moment.
He -has-, and Sammar gradually leaves off grooming. His patrol has been interrupted but he doesn't care too much-- honestly, it's Amahl! He's -terribly pleased that the other male is back-- and with them rather than with his own pride, although -that's- odd, isn't it? From the sound ofi t, Amahl was -very- happy there-- and surely he'd have been better off with his family, grieving. But he's -here- and Sammar's -very- pleased about that. He adjusts his position, to curl around the other a little.
Amahl, predictably, doesn't move; he /is/ tired, both from emotional stress and the fact that, although he didn't exert himself to the point of collapsing on his way over, he'd apparently travelled all night to get here. He seems quite happy where he is as the sun continues to crawl above the horizon--and, as its light finally illuminates even the most shadowy sections of Kivuli, the second border patrol of the day shows up. Though Mizuka and Kisehemu usually take subsequent shifts rather than concurrent ones, they're both making their way out to the eastern border today. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that the king is still feeling a little under the weather, though not enough to make him stop his daily routine.
Sammar, by this time, has dropped into a doze himself. This will be a poor place to nap as the sun climbs higher, but it's cool, if humid, for now, and Sammar has begunto snore, softly, by the time the rising sun hits his face. It wakes him, though, and he startles a little before lifting his head, yawning hugely, teeth showing.
Their approach is virtually soundless; they're not talking much, although it's a companionable sort of silence. Mizuka will stop every so often to mark something--a bush, a rock, a long patch of grass. Oh, the exciting life of a male in charge of a pride. It's only as they're coming down the foothills that the odd amalgamation of Sammar and Amahl becomes easily noticeable. Mizuka halts, and so his knight does as well; and the two of them exchange rather bemused looks at the sight. "Is that the Tyne prince?" Kisehemu wonders aloud as Sammar's head lifts, apparently not noticing that at least one of them has woken up.
"I think so." Mizuka's nose wrinkles. "So he's back, then. What have they been doing out here?"
"I called it, Master Mizuka," the knight declares, wearing a little smirk now. "You owe me a double shift tomorrow." And off he goes, stepping high and light, to mark one of the boulders.
Mizuka snorts after him half-heartedly, his tail curling up over his back as he watches the older male retreat. Oblivious, to all appearances, of both the fact that Sammar is awake /and/ that the deadpan but almost gossipy little exchange sounds quite abnormal from either one of them.
Sammar swings his head around to have a look when he hears voices-- he doesn't at first connect them with Kisehemu and Mizuka, the words are so out of place, and he snorts sharply, whiskers bristling and lips lifting away from his teeth. He carefully extricates himself from Amahl,trying hard not to wake him, and huffs out a low grunting greeting-- a little growly, just a -shade-. He doesn't like the idea of being thesubject of a bet.
Amahl makes a low sound, protesting, and rouses a little. Soon, though, he goes limp again--apparently it didn't wake him up all the way. The others take more notice, of course. "Good morning, Sammar." Kisehemu sounds friendly, even pleased--then again, maybe he would be, since he'd won whatever they were betting on. "We were wondering where you'd gotten off to when you didn't report back. Reuniting with your diplomat, were you?" Done with the boulder, he leans himself carefully against a patch that /doesn't/ stink of lion piss and regards the male with quirked brows.
Sammar regards himfor a moment, brows knitting slowly together. "I heard yuo and your little -bet-. Leave the boy alone; his mother just died." He's grumpy, but there is, sliding underneath it, a species of amusement. "Regardless. His mother died-- he said he came back to let you know." This a little puzzled.
Well, that kind of ruins things. The little smirk slips off his face, and he exchanges another glance with Mizuka--equally puzzled when he hears that last. "...It's an important event, like the coronation of a new ruler," the Kivulian king offers, but he sounds rather bemused. "It wouldn't be unusual for our allies to notify us, but--why send /him/? He must be mourning." Certainly the last thing Mizuka had wanted to do after /his/ father's death was talk to anyone, much less go off to tell people what had happened.
Sammar rolls his shoulders forward in a shrug. "He wanted to be here, I suppose. He said he wanted to." Puzzled, as well. "But he's -back-, so I suppose that's all right-- get him out of there." Glancing back at the slumbering cat. "He's got some kind of-- problem, you know." Stern. "So he's got to be a diplomat-- maybe that's why; give him something to do."
"I know why he came here originally." Mizuka glances at him as well, his ears tipping back. "But why would an adolescent his age want to come back and resume his training right after his mother died? Unless..." He trails off, looking at Kisehemu again. "...Well, never mind," he concludes, perhaps realising it's best not to get into it right now. "Wake him up, then. He can rest somewhere off of the borders where it's safer." He turns to go, apparently set to resume his patrol. "Offer my condolences to him, if you like. We won't be back until evening."
"I will." Sammar takes a step forward to bump his nose against Mizuka's shoulder, jerk his chin at Kisehemu and do the same to to him, in passing. "I will. I was going to just let him sleep awhile-- then take him. He needs to rest. We'll see you later." Yes, -we-. Amahl is -his- charge, after all.
For that, at least, Mizuka pauses--and he returns the little nudge, probably remembering the way Sammar had tried to look after him when he was feeling worse than he does at the moment. "There's a smaller cavern," he notes, "halfway up the cliff path. If it starts raining he can shelter in there if he'd prefer to be alone." Somebody like Amahl shouldn't be out in the middle of a downpour, more than likely. If he's really that frail, he could catch a bad chill.
"Good. I'll keep an eye on him." Glancing back towards that slender snoozing form. "Thank you." He gives himself a bit of a shake, and takes a few steps back, heading over to the other lion-- not to rouse him but the settle around him, protective.
"You're welcome." Mizuka gives one last, considering look to them both before he sets off on his way again, Kisehemu following him. Well, this was rather unexpected. Is he going to have to send another knight off to Tyne to return their errant prince? Perhaps. He'll speak with Amahl before he does anything of the sort, but that'll have to wait until their patrols are done for the day.