Post by Shomoro on Mar 27, 2008 1:31:24 GMT -5
Involved:
Amahl, Tyne Prince
Sammar, Jinjin'tau Warrior
The solution to any identity crisis is clearly to let yourself be talked into running off and joining the circus--I mean, Jinjin'tau--after talking to one of its members for five minutes.
CLEARLY.
Tyne - Mwindaji Savannah
The rest of the pride is a little ways off-- Sammar has gone out scouting. Females scout for food, -he- looks for enemies. He'd been feeling cranky when he started out, but it's only when he thinks of it that he realizes that he's begun to feel better-- it's all those females. He's not used to them; makes his head hurt. He's ventured, he thinks, into territory that's quite likely occupied-- he doesn't mind -terribl-y much, though. It's better than the females.
It's not his place to go on patrols; that job is reserved for lions who are actually /suited/ for it. Ones who can walk around for hours marking things and fighting off intruders without collapsing from exhaustion. So Amahl doesn't really consider his restless wandering to be guarding anything, per se; his paws have just brought him out to the edge of the territory as a matter of course, because the boy's been avoiding everyone and he knows he's less likely to run into anyone out here than he is, say, smack in the middle of the cavern. The adolescent plods along, his mouth drawn into a flat, frowning line; he's staring at his paws, but that changes when the dry breeze whips something towards him. Somebody's scent, unfamiliar and pungently male. He looks up at once, his nose wrinkling, and squints off into the dry grass.
-- -Very- male. Sammar, who's smelling someone -else's- scent (though not Amahl's), is on his guard. He's also, smelling, seized by the impish impulse to mark, -himself-. Just -once-. It makes him huff low laughter to himself, and then-- ah, he's in need of refreshment if -that's- funny to him. He's a fairly big long, long-bodied, his face long as well, not snub-nosed as are some savanna cats. No, he's most certainly a foreigner, and if that didn't make it clear he's maneless as well, sporting only a slight darker shagginess about the neck, on his shoulders, along the back of his neck and his cheeks. Sammar's getting close enough now that he might be visible through the grass-- and Amahl, pale as he is, is -certainly- visible to the other lion, who pauses, seized again with that -so- strong urge.
He's never met a stranger out on the border before--/inside/ the borders, yes, but this is a first for him and he's not /entirely/ sure how to react to it. /He/ wasn't the one who got trained in this sort of thing, after all, and Amahl feels horribly out of his element as he watches the older male approach. He's /big/. Ech. And he's not stopping, but then he /does/ and--what's with that expression? His lips are pulled back in a grimace that's half-heartedly threatening, even though Sammar could probably just knock him over and sit on him without too much trouble, but that not-quite snarl is accompanied by a certain widening of the eyes. That's an 'I know something you don't know' look if he ever saw one. Or possibly an 'I'm going to do something you won't like' look. "Don't you dare," he says accordingly, and tries for at least an imposing /voice/ but fails; instead of menacing it's just curiously scolding instead.
He's startled, his head pulling back-- how did the sprite know? -- Oh. His face. Sammar twitches the look away and rolls his shoulders forward. The other cat is-- probably half-grown, certainly runty, and quite pale. -My-. "Don't I dare -what-?" he wants to know-- there's almost a playful note in his voice-- what -did- the other think he was going to do? His body language doesn't appear hostile, however: his face, his body are relaxed, his tail curled perhaps a little high but no more than somewhat assertive.
"Don't you dare do...whatever you were going to do," he finishes lamely. He doesn't know specifically what Sammar was planning to do...but his expression certainly made it seem like he was going to do /something/. Amahl watches him apprehensively, but his body language doesn't seem aggressive. /Good/. "...You're on claimed land, you know," he goes on after awhile. That's what guards are supposed to say, isn't it? "You shouldn't just--invite yourself in without asking. It's /rude/." That scolding note has crept back again, and he's frowning at the other lion, but for all that he doesn't seem terribly confrontational himself. He'd be a /terrible/ sentry.
This is a -decidedly- curious confrontation-- he's never been greeted quite this way before, and while under other circumstances he might be aggressive, this awkward, sparrowish scolding quite takes the wind out of his sails. Sammar's smile returns-- slightly befuddled this time-- and then fades a bit. "Well, it -is-," he agrees, and stretches his neck out towards Amahl, broad nosebad twitching as he sniffs. "And I supposed I might be. I don't plan on kidnapping your -females-." The emphasis on the singularity of that comes out unannounced.
--Well, he can't be bad if he's /smiling/. Can he? Amahl returns it with another of those anxious looks, his nostrils flaring when Sammar leans in. Okay then! "But you're not /too/ far in," he goes on to assure, "so it's okay! As long as you don't run into my father or my uncle. I don't think they'd like you here." He regards the bigger cat gravely, then blinks, his ears setting back. "--/My/--" He laughs incredulously; the sound is awkward, yanked out of him. "No, they're not mine! But it's good that you're not here to steal them. I don't think they'd like /that/ very much either. Do you?" He smiles back, and it's a bit toothy, but not hostile. Just--unsure of himself.
"Well that's good to know," and perhaps it is. "Would you know where I am in relation to the Kivuli pride? I don't travel alone, but on my way to someplace else." Little pause. "-- I don't, no." Smiling back, puzzled again. "So they're the ones in charge? What does that make you?" he moves a little closer-- just wanting to acquaint himself a little more properly, if they -are- going to be talking, which Sammar at least discovers that he would like very much. His tail flares up, curling over his back, and he moves to sniff close to Amahl's face.
"Kivuli?" Amahl's face betrays his surprise; he hasn't been to their lands since--well, he was born there, Waset's told him, and...that's about it. But still, he knows /of/ them, and somehow it's a bit of a shock to hear a /rogue/ asking after them. He supposes he's always thought of them as things from Away that have no knowledge of /anything/ in this region. "They're to--the west, I think. Well, southwest a little--these are the Tyne lands, I don't know if you've heard of /us/." His ears give another twitch back when Sammar eases in to sniff his face. But the gesture is a friendly one, and so he returns it, after a pause. "I'm--" What /does/ it make him? He's not an heir, he just sort of...is. "--I'm a prince," he finishes, aware even as he speaks that the title means /nothing/. It doesn't say much about him or his role in the pride, does it? He's frowning again, and so changes the subject after a minute. "Why are you going to Kivuli?"
Sammar's head cocks as he judged the sun, then glances in the appropriate direction as though he can see straight on to Kivuli. "-- I may have." They -do- sound familiar-- moreso than his tone might lead Amahl to think. "-- Oh, are you?" and isn't -that- la-de-da-- but he -is- interested, at least a little. "And what do you do with that? It sounds like you'd have to knock over a few other cats before you became king, as well." His nose wrinkles a little. "-- I'm escorting a queen-to-be, and a -- a little group of us, our pride. The Jinjin'tau."
"...I really don't know," Amahl admits after a minute. "I don't know what to do with it." He shrugs his narrow shoulders, a little self-deprecating. "I'm not going to be king. My--other uncle, who's about my age. /He's/ the one my father picked to follow him. And my cousin is an heir too." He's frowning again. Maybe it isn't wise, discussing such things with a total stranger, but Sammar seems nice enough--and this is something he's been going over in his head for quite awhile. This is just a verbal manifestation of all his uncertainty--he'd never expected to be picked, of course, but now that the heirs /have/ been chosen he's been confronted with a very hard, unpleasant question: what about him, where's /his/ place. If he can't hunt, or guard--what's left? "...Oh. That's nice. I don't think I've ever heard of Jinjin'tau..." But it's polite conversation at best, and he's backing away a little as he speaks.
"And you're not much of a fighter, are you?" the question isn't unkind-- Sammar himself has not until recently known the pain of not belonging, but he -does- know the pain of not having power. And at least -he- had a role in the pride-- Amahl, he suspects, might not. "You can come and meet them, if you like?" he suggests. "We were a little uncertain as to how we might get to Kivuli." Which might well be a lie, but it had seemed confusing to -him-!
"No, not really," he sighs. At least being unable to fight has left him rather more even-tempered than some of the other males. Whether it's a good thing for Tyne is arguable, but it's certainly a good thing for Sammar. "I'm really the only one who's not, though. So I wouldn't hang around here too long, if I were you." He says it apologetically; he doesn't want this nice person getting beaten up for trespassing or something. And another step back, preparing to go, before Sammar invites him along. Amahl eyes him warily in response. "I don't even know your name," he points out, /finally/ showing a little discretion. "Or what your pride is like. I can give you directions, though."
"-- I'm Sammar. And if there's nothing for you -here-...." he trails off, significantly, he hopes. "-- Certainly. -Directions-." And now he pricks his ears forward-- he is -ready- to listen!
It /does/ sound rather significant, and he frowns, setting his ears back. "There /is/ something for me here," he says, but it sounds like a weak protest even to him. "I mean, I live here!" He's just not sure what he's going to do while the other males his age are off making themselves useful by trouncing rogues like the one in front of him. Although if they're /all/ this nice, he doesn't think he'd want to trounce them anyway. "I'm Amahl..." He doesn't bother with the title, since Sammar already knows. Just squints off past him into the savanna. "It's southwest of here, like I said. It's not too far--it's very /mountainous/, I've heard, so it ought to be easy to spot. Are you a diplomatic party?" he adds abruptly. Well, it's really all he can think of...
"Well, certainly we could use someone a little more familiar with the locals!" Sammar replies-- and leaves it at that. "-- Yes. Southwest." Looking that way again, following Amahl's gaze this time. "-- We are. I'm-- keeping an eye on-- a lioness who is to be mated to the local king." Here his tone shifts just a little, a sly undernote of unhappiness entering his voice.
"Oh, the only locals /I'm/ familiar with are the ones here. And sometimes I don't even feel like I know /them/!" Amahl laughs, but it's a little forced. "But I was born there, you know. My mother's told me a bit about it. Of course, I don't remember anything." His gaze shifts back to the older male, and it's curious. "Oh," is the best he can come up with, and then: "Is that bad? You don't sound /happy/." He's awfully perceptive--but then again he's used to the sound of carefully disguised uhappiness. Gods know /he/ sounds that way often enough lately.
The older male's ears thingy back ,at that. He's surprised-- more that Amahl should ask than that he should notice at all. "I'm stuck with a bunch of females, that's more or less my ground state." Dry. In fact-- it's not that he -dislikes- the girls he's "stuck" with, but... And really, that isn't necessarily it at all even-- the words come out sounding al ittle like an excuse.
They /do/, but Amahl doesn't question it. Just repeats, "Oh," and then, trying to be helpful: "Well at least there'll be the king once you get to Kivuli! And they've got knights, which are usually male, I think." Truth be told, he's a little bewildered; he's not really predisposed to one gender or another, and the only people he finds bothersome are the /rude/ ones. But maybe the females of his pride are rude? Or maybe that's not it at all. That's politicking, he knows--you say one thing and mean another. Maybe Kivuli is absorbing his pride for some reason and it's made him angry. "I'm sure it'll be okay," he finishes awkwardly.
"Well thank you." Gracious. "I need -proper- companionship, that's all." He huffs out-- and his closest friends -have- beenl eft back home. Instead he's left with Chaosti and the queen, the former of whom he's most uncertain about at this point, although he'd -wanted- to remain friends, and the latter of whom is... well... Going to another male. "Knights. Well." There's that, atl east-- perking up a little. "We may be in the area another day or so before continuing on--" he'd thought he'd dropped the subject: apparently not.
"You're welcome, I--" Cutting himself off abruptly. "/Proper/ companionship?" he echoes, though of course he knows what Sammar is talking about; some people you don't know well enough to share a real conversation with, or just don't feel comfortable around. "I'm sure you'll find some!" Amahl pauses a minute. "Okay. Well--you might want to go out past the border, so if a patrol comes along they won't start trouble with you--" He can show the other where /that/ is, at least. Not that it's very hard to tell, with all the scentmarks.
Sammar thinks about it for a moment. Well. Maybe it -does- sound a little odd. "I'm d**n sick of lionesses who aren't -mine-," is what he settles on after a bit. "-- Ah. I probably ought. They're safely on neutral ground-- I was just sticking my nose places." At least he does move- but it's only a little, clearly waiting for Amahl to take the lead.
...Or that. "Well, I'm sure you can get some of /those/, too," Amahl says, stubbornly optimistic. "Maybe you'll find some in Kivuli." Though isn't it usually considered bad form to steal lionesses from the king? He frowns, but the expression vanishes when Sammar shifts--is he leaving? ...He seems to be waiting. Even though, from what he just said, he can't possibly need any help getting back to his group. Bemused, but happy to be included in something anyway, he smiles at the older male and hurries off south.
Forgotten Lands - Waterhole
Sammar trots along with him-- he can only hope that the Kivuli pride will be as pleasant-- he has his doubts. Oh yes. He's frowning as he follows, confidence still there but a little muted. They're reaching the area where the rest of the pride had been more or less stationed, and Sammar sighs. "Well. You -ought- to tag along."
He's out of his element here; at least in Tyne he knows the borders are relatively secure. But this is neutral territory, and gods only know /what/ could be running around here. But it isn't like he's never set foot in the Forgotten Lands before. He has...he just never knows what to expect from the residents. "Why? I barely know you, and I don't know the rest of your pride at /all/." But at the same time, Amahl is flattered. He can't help it; somebody wants him along! On a diplomatic mission! ...Maybe he could do /that/. His mouth opens, and he looks at Sammar again, thoughtfully and much more relaxed than he'd been when they'd first bumped into each other.
"Well, you were born there, and we can always use someone who has ties to the place." And the younger cat would be a pleasant diversion-- for Ndalia as well, he thinks. Of course, the lsat thing he wants is the lioness getting interested in -Amahl-. No. Well-- he'll keep an eye on -that-. -- Amahl's looking thoughtful now, too-- maybe the little thing -will- be interested! He's pleased-- ifnothing else, Amahl will be a diversion for -him-.
"I don't really have ties there. I mean, both my parents are from Tyne. They just went there because they needed a healer, and..." Amahl shrugs, making a vague attempt at indicating some nebulous chain of events. "But I think I could find my way there. I just--I can't hunt well," he warns, and glances away, embarrassed. "I can't really fight either, like I said. But I need /something/ to do and I guess if you guys are a bunch of diplomats anyway--" Will his parents--and the rest of his family--like him running off with 'a bunch of diplomats' who are pretty much total strangers? Probably not. But they might like it a little more than him staying here and questioning things all the time.
Sammar smiles, and it's -quite- large. "-- We'll help you learn to fight. You just need to work at it, that's all," casting a critical eye over the adolescent's skinny frame. No, not even really skinny-- just -small-. "We'll be in the area." Oh yes he -is- pleased-- this -will- be a diversion.
Amahl returns that smile, tentative. "Well--I don't know. I could never keep up with anyone as a cub, either. I, uhm--I was sick a lot then," not sure why he's telling this to the other male, "and I think that's probably got something to do with it--" Wait, he's trying /not/ to make himself a liability! But they need to know that he's frail /now/, so it won't come as a nasty surprise later. Ugh. "So if you don't want me to come along after all," he goes on quickly, "I understand. But if you /do/ I can go talk to my pride...?" More specifically, his parents. Double ugh. He's /not/ looking forward to that conversation.
"I do." Making this decision on his own-- so what if Ndalia doesn't like it! He can't, honestly, imagine why she wouldn't-- and he's got no other guards -to- pal around with-- although Amahl -really- isn't much of one. Maybe he'll bring Chaoti out of her shell a little, too-- he seems sweet. Although they -certainly- would be an odd match, he realizes a moment later. Still. "-- We could use a local guide." Sticking to that because it's the only remotely solid excuse he -has-, isn't it? At least while he has his big-boy mane on (so to speak).
His ears perk up, and that smile blossoms into something rather larger, more genuine. "Really? I--okay!" He's /horribly/ excited all of a sudden--the thought of travelling, combined with the wonderful ideas of making a new friend /and/ finding himself something useful to do, have rather cancelled out any lingering doubts about Sammar's honesty. Or of how the rest of his family is apt to react when he comes back and wants to know if it's okay for him to run off to Kivuli with a bunch of strangers. Much more animated now, Amahl turns himself in a little circle, his side brushing against the other's like an overeager cub. "I'll be back soon--" And off he goes, at a rather odd-looking lope--trying to pace himself while moving as quickly as possible, because there's no chance he can dash the whole way back to Tyne Rock. Even if he /does/ wish he could.
Amahl, Tyne Prince
Sammar, Jinjin'tau Warrior
The solution to any identity crisis is clearly to let yourself be talked into running off and joining the circus--I mean, Jinjin'tau--after talking to one of its members for five minutes.
CLEARLY.
Tyne - Mwindaji Savannah
The rest of the pride is a little ways off-- Sammar has gone out scouting. Females scout for food, -he- looks for enemies. He'd been feeling cranky when he started out, but it's only when he thinks of it that he realizes that he's begun to feel better-- it's all those females. He's not used to them; makes his head hurt. He's ventured, he thinks, into territory that's quite likely occupied-- he doesn't mind -terribl-y much, though. It's better than the females.
It's not his place to go on patrols; that job is reserved for lions who are actually /suited/ for it. Ones who can walk around for hours marking things and fighting off intruders without collapsing from exhaustion. So Amahl doesn't really consider his restless wandering to be guarding anything, per se; his paws have just brought him out to the edge of the territory as a matter of course, because the boy's been avoiding everyone and he knows he's less likely to run into anyone out here than he is, say, smack in the middle of the cavern. The adolescent plods along, his mouth drawn into a flat, frowning line; he's staring at his paws, but that changes when the dry breeze whips something towards him. Somebody's scent, unfamiliar and pungently male. He looks up at once, his nose wrinkling, and squints off into the dry grass.
-- -Very- male. Sammar, who's smelling someone -else's- scent (though not Amahl's), is on his guard. He's also, smelling, seized by the impish impulse to mark, -himself-. Just -once-. It makes him huff low laughter to himself, and then-- ah, he's in need of refreshment if -that's- funny to him. He's a fairly big long, long-bodied, his face long as well, not snub-nosed as are some savanna cats. No, he's most certainly a foreigner, and if that didn't make it clear he's maneless as well, sporting only a slight darker shagginess about the neck, on his shoulders, along the back of his neck and his cheeks. Sammar's getting close enough now that he might be visible through the grass-- and Amahl, pale as he is, is -certainly- visible to the other lion, who pauses, seized again with that -so- strong urge.
He's never met a stranger out on the border before--/inside/ the borders, yes, but this is a first for him and he's not /entirely/ sure how to react to it. /He/ wasn't the one who got trained in this sort of thing, after all, and Amahl feels horribly out of his element as he watches the older male approach. He's /big/. Ech. And he's not stopping, but then he /does/ and--what's with that expression? His lips are pulled back in a grimace that's half-heartedly threatening, even though Sammar could probably just knock him over and sit on him without too much trouble, but that not-quite snarl is accompanied by a certain widening of the eyes. That's an 'I know something you don't know' look if he ever saw one. Or possibly an 'I'm going to do something you won't like' look. "Don't you dare," he says accordingly, and tries for at least an imposing /voice/ but fails; instead of menacing it's just curiously scolding instead.
He's startled, his head pulling back-- how did the sprite know? -- Oh. His face. Sammar twitches the look away and rolls his shoulders forward. The other cat is-- probably half-grown, certainly runty, and quite pale. -My-. "Don't I dare -what-?" he wants to know-- there's almost a playful note in his voice-- what -did- the other think he was going to do? His body language doesn't appear hostile, however: his face, his body are relaxed, his tail curled perhaps a little high but no more than somewhat assertive.
"Don't you dare do...whatever you were going to do," he finishes lamely. He doesn't know specifically what Sammar was planning to do...but his expression certainly made it seem like he was going to do /something/. Amahl watches him apprehensively, but his body language doesn't seem aggressive. /Good/. "...You're on claimed land, you know," he goes on after awhile. That's what guards are supposed to say, isn't it? "You shouldn't just--invite yourself in without asking. It's /rude/." That scolding note has crept back again, and he's frowning at the other lion, but for all that he doesn't seem terribly confrontational himself. He'd be a /terrible/ sentry.
This is a -decidedly- curious confrontation-- he's never been greeted quite this way before, and while under other circumstances he might be aggressive, this awkward, sparrowish scolding quite takes the wind out of his sails. Sammar's smile returns-- slightly befuddled this time-- and then fades a bit. "Well, it -is-," he agrees, and stretches his neck out towards Amahl, broad nosebad twitching as he sniffs. "And I supposed I might be. I don't plan on kidnapping your -females-." The emphasis on the singularity of that comes out unannounced.
--Well, he can't be bad if he's /smiling/. Can he? Amahl returns it with another of those anxious looks, his nostrils flaring when Sammar leans in. Okay then! "But you're not /too/ far in," he goes on to assure, "so it's okay! As long as you don't run into my father or my uncle. I don't think they'd like you here." He regards the bigger cat gravely, then blinks, his ears setting back. "--/My/--" He laughs incredulously; the sound is awkward, yanked out of him. "No, they're not mine! But it's good that you're not here to steal them. I don't think they'd like /that/ very much either. Do you?" He smiles back, and it's a bit toothy, but not hostile. Just--unsure of himself.
"Well that's good to know," and perhaps it is. "Would you know where I am in relation to the Kivuli pride? I don't travel alone, but on my way to someplace else." Little pause. "-- I don't, no." Smiling back, puzzled again. "So they're the ones in charge? What does that make you?" he moves a little closer-- just wanting to acquaint himself a little more properly, if they -are- going to be talking, which Sammar at least discovers that he would like very much. His tail flares up, curling over his back, and he moves to sniff close to Amahl's face.
"Kivuli?" Amahl's face betrays his surprise; he hasn't been to their lands since--well, he was born there, Waset's told him, and...that's about it. But still, he knows /of/ them, and somehow it's a bit of a shock to hear a /rogue/ asking after them. He supposes he's always thought of them as things from Away that have no knowledge of /anything/ in this region. "They're to--the west, I think. Well, southwest a little--these are the Tyne lands, I don't know if you've heard of /us/." His ears give another twitch back when Sammar eases in to sniff his face. But the gesture is a friendly one, and so he returns it, after a pause. "I'm--" What /does/ it make him? He's not an heir, he just sort of...is. "--I'm a prince," he finishes, aware even as he speaks that the title means /nothing/. It doesn't say much about him or his role in the pride, does it? He's frowning again, and so changes the subject after a minute. "Why are you going to Kivuli?"
Sammar's head cocks as he judged the sun, then glances in the appropriate direction as though he can see straight on to Kivuli. "-- I may have." They -do- sound familiar-- moreso than his tone might lead Amahl to think. "-- Oh, are you?" and isn't -that- la-de-da-- but he -is- interested, at least a little. "And what do you do with that? It sounds like you'd have to knock over a few other cats before you became king, as well." His nose wrinkles a little. "-- I'm escorting a queen-to-be, and a -- a little group of us, our pride. The Jinjin'tau."
"...I really don't know," Amahl admits after a minute. "I don't know what to do with it." He shrugs his narrow shoulders, a little self-deprecating. "I'm not going to be king. My--other uncle, who's about my age. /He's/ the one my father picked to follow him. And my cousin is an heir too." He's frowning again. Maybe it isn't wise, discussing such things with a total stranger, but Sammar seems nice enough--and this is something he's been going over in his head for quite awhile. This is just a verbal manifestation of all his uncertainty--he'd never expected to be picked, of course, but now that the heirs /have/ been chosen he's been confronted with a very hard, unpleasant question: what about him, where's /his/ place. If he can't hunt, or guard--what's left? "...Oh. That's nice. I don't think I've ever heard of Jinjin'tau..." But it's polite conversation at best, and he's backing away a little as he speaks.
"And you're not much of a fighter, are you?" the question isn't unkind-- Sammar himself has not until recently known the pain of not belonging, but he -does- know the pain of not having power. And at least -he- had a role in the pride-- Amahl, he suspects, might not. "You can come and meet them, if you like?" he suggests. "We were a little uncertain as to how we might get to Kivuli." Which might well be a lie, but it had seemed confusing to -him-!
"No, not really," he sighs. At least being unable to fight has left him rather more even-tempered than some of the other males. Whether it's a good thing for Tyne is arguable, but it's certainly a good thing for Sammar. "I'm really the only one who's not, though. So I wouldn't hang around here too long, if I were you." He says it apologetically; he doesn't want this nice person getting beaten up for trespassing or something. And another step back, preparing to go, before Sammar invites him along. Amahl eyes him warily in response. "I don't even know your name," he points out, /finally/ showing a little discretion. "Or what your pride is like. I can give you directions, though."
"-- I'm Sammar. And if there's nothing for you -here-...." he trails off, significantly, he hopes. "-- Certainly. -Directions-." And now he pricks his ears forward-- he is -ready- to listen!
It /does/ sound rather significant, and he frowns, setting his ears back. "There /is/ something for me here," he says, but it sounds like a weak protest even to him. "I mean, I live here!" He's just not sure what he's going to do while the other males his age are off making themselves useful by trouncing rogues like the one in front of him. Although if they're /all/ this nice, he doesn't think he'd want to trounce them anyway. "I'm Amahl..." He doesn't bother with the title, since Sammar already knows. Just squints off past him into the savanna. "It's southwest of here, like I said. It's not too far--it's very /mountainous/, I've heard, so it ought to be easy to spot. Are you a diplomatic party?" he adds abruptly. Well, it's really all he can think of...
"Well, certainly we could use someone a little more familiar with the locals!" Sammar replies-- and leaves it at that. "-- Yes. Southwest." Looking that way again, following Amahl's gaze this time. "-- We are. I'm-- keeping an eye on-- a lioness who is to be mated to the local king." Here his tone shifts just a little, a sly undernote of unhappiness entering his voice.
"Oh, the only locals /I'm/ familiar with are the ones here. And sometimes I don't even feel like I know /them/!" Amahl laughs, but it's a little forced. "But I was born there, you know. My mother's told me a bit about it. Of course, I don't remember anything." His gaze shifts back to the older male, and it's curious. "Oh," is the best he can come up with, and then: "Is that bad? You don't sound /happy/." He's awfully perceptive--but then again he's used to the sound of carefully disguised uhappiness. Gods know /he/ sounds that way often enough lately.
The older male's ears thingy back ,at that. He's surprised-- more that Amahl should ask than that he should notice at all. "I'm stuck with a bunch of females, that's more or less my ground state." Dry. In fact-- it's not that he -dislikes- the girls he's "stuck" with, but... And really, that isn't necessarily it at all even-- the words come out sounding al ittle like an excuse.
They /do/, but Amahl doesn't question it. Just repeats, "Oh," and then, trying to be helpful: "Well at least there'll be the king once you get to Kivuli! And they've got knights, which are usually male, I think." Truth be told, he's a little bewildered; he's not really predisposed to one gender or another, and the only people he finds bothersome are the /rude/ ones. But maybe the females of his pride are rude? Or maybe that's not it at all. That's politicking, he knows--you say one thing and mean another. Maybe Kivuli is absorbing his pride for some reason and it's made him angry. "I'm sure it'll be okay," he finishes awkwardly.
"Well thank you." Gracious. "I need -proper- companionship, that's all." He huffs out-- and his closest friends -have- beenl eft back home. Instead he's left with Chaosti and the queen, the former of whom he's most uncertain about at this point, although he'd -wanted- to remain friends, and the latter of whom is... well... Going to another male. "Knights. Well." There's that, atl east-- perking up a little. "We may be in the area another day or so before continuing on--" he'd thought he'd dropped the subject: apparently not.
"You're welcome, I--" Cutting himself off abruptly. "/Proper/ companionship?" he echoes, though of course he knows what Sammar is talking about; some people you don't know well enough to share a real conversation with, or just don't feel comfortable around. "I'm sure you'll find some!" Amahl pauses a minute. "Okay. Well--you might want to go out past the border, so if a patrol comes along they won't start trouble with you--" He can show the other where /that/ is, at least. Not that it's very hard to tell, with all the scentmarks.
Sammar thinks about it for a moment. Well. Maybe it -does- sound a little odd. "I'm d**n sick of lionesses who aren't -mine-," is what he settles on after a bit. "-- Ah. I probably ought. They're safely on neutral ground-- I was just sticking my nose places." At least he does move- but it's only a little, clearly waiting for Amahl to take the lead.
...Or that. "Well, I'm sure you can get some of /those/, too," Amahl says, stubbornly optimistic. "Maybe you'll find some in Kivuli." Though isn't it usually considered bad form to steal lionesses from the king? He frowns, but the expression vanishes when Sammar shifts--is he leaving? ...He seems to be waiting. Even though, from what he just said, he can't possibly need any help getting back to his group. Bemused, but happy to be included in something anyway, he smiles at the older male and hurries off south.
Forgotten Lands - Waterhole
Sammar trots along with him-- he can only hope that the Kivuli pride will be as pleasant-- he has his doubts. Oh yes. He's frowning as he follows, confidence still there but a little muted. They're reaching the area where the rest of the pride had been more or less stationed, and Sammar sighs. "Well. You -ought- to tag along."
He's out of his element here; at least in Tyne he knows the borders are relatively secure. But this is neutral territory, and gods only know /what/ could be running around here. But it isn't like he's never set foot in the Forgotten Lands before. He has...he just never knows what to expect from the residents. "Why? I barely know you, and I don't know the rest of your pride at /all/." But at the same time, Amahl is flattered. He can't help it; somebody wants him along! On a diplomatic mission! ...Maybe he could do /that/. His mouth opens, and he looks at Sammar again, thoughtfully and much more relaxed than he'd been when they'd first bumped into each other.
"Well, you were born there, and we can always use someone who has ties to the place." And the younger cat would be a pleasant diversion-- for Ndalia as well, he thinks. Of course, the lsat thing he wants is the lioness getting interested in -Amahl-. No. Well-- he'll keep an eye on -that-. -- Amahl's looking thoughtful now, too-- maybe the little thing -will- be interested! He's pleased-- ifnothing else, Amahl will be a diversion for -him-.
"I don't really have ties there. I mean, both my parents are from Tyne. They just went there because they needed a healer, and..." Amahl shrugs, making a vague attempt at indicating some nebulous chain of events. "But I think I could find my way there. I just--I can't hunt well," he warns, and glances away, embarrassed. "I can't really fight either, like I said. But I need /something/ to do and I guess if you guys are a bunch of diplomats anyway--" Will his parents--and the rest of his family--like him running off with 'a bunch of diplomats' who are pretty much total strangers? Probably not. But they might like it a little more than him staying here and questioning things all the time.
Sammar smiles, and it's -quite- large. "-- We'll help you learn to fight. You just need to work at it, that's all," casting a critical eye over the adolescent's skinny frame. No, not even really skinny-- just -small-. "We'll be in the area." Oh yes he -is- pleased-- this -will- be a diversion.
Amahl returns that smile, tentative. "Well--I don't know. I could never keep up with anyone as a cub, either. I, uhm--I was sick a lot then," not sure why he's telling this to the other male, "and I think that's probably got something to do with it--" Wait, he's trying /not/ to make himself a liability! But they need to know that he's frail /now/, so it won't come as a nasty surprise later. Ugh. "So if you don't want me to come along after all," he goes on quickly, "I understand. But if you /do/ I can go talk to my pride...?" More specifically, his parents. Double ugh. He's /not/ looking forward to that conversation.
"I do." Making this decision on his own-- so what if Ndalia doesn't like it! He can't, honestly, imagine why she wouldn't-- and he's got no other guards -to- pal around with-- although Amahl -really- isn't much of one. Maybe he'll bring Chaoti out of her shell a little, too-- he seems sweet. Although they -certainly- would be an odd match, he realizes a moment later. Still. "-- We could use a local guide." Sticking to that because it's the only remotely solid excuse he -has-, isn't it? At least while he has his big-boy mane on (so to speak).
His ears perk up, and that smile blossoms into something rather larger, more genuine. "Really? I--okay!" He's /horribly/ excited all of a sudden--the thought of travelling, combined with the wonderful ideas of making a new friend /and/ finding himself something useful to do, have rather cancelled out any lingering doubts about Sammar's honesty. Or of how the rest of his family is apt to react when he comes back and wants to know if it's okay for him to run off to Kivuli with a bunch of strangers. Much more animated now, Amahl turns himself in a little circle, his side brushing against the other's like an overeager cub. "I'll be back soon--" And off he goes, at a rather odd-looking lope--trying to pace himself while moving as quickly as possible, because there's no chance he can dash the whole way back to Tyne Rock. Even if he /does/ wish he could.