“…Is, isn’t this a bit… fast?”
Zehara chuckled. “Perhaps. You are… very surprising, Dark Flight.”
Dark shook himself a little, blushing, as Zehara was. “…So are you.” He said, taking a breath.
“…Forgive me if I was too quick for you.” Zehara said, smiling. “But I’ve never had a stallion swear to protect me before, you know.”
“Yeah.” Dark said, still a little stunned. When she’d tugged him closer, he had known what was happening.
Not that the kiss hadn’t of shocked him anyway. He was really struggling to figure out what he should say, or do, the pair lying, facing one another.
And, if he was judging Zehra’s smile, faint blush, and slight chuckle, she might be just as lost as he was. It was making her adorable.
He really hadn’t expected this. This hadn’t ever happened on a mission before.
“I, I can’t stay after this.” He said, shaking himself, and trying to refocus. “Once the, the, the, the thing is done, we’ll go back to Canterlot.”
“…Perhaps I might come with you.”
Dark startled. “W, wh, what?”
“You said that your princess would accept any who came to her, did you not?” Zehara asked. As Dark gaped, she continued, “If I may continue to get to know you more, I would happily come to serve her as you do.”
“…That, that’s a bigger duty than you think.” Dark said, trying to get his mind in order, and trying to stop imagining her in silver armor.
“Is it worse than trying to organize many tribes of zebra warriors to combat the blazing death?” Zehara asked. “More difficult than being the voice and face of the Deharan? I am not a warrior, but I have seen and escaped more death than most.”
“…But, but this is your home.”
“Perhaps not for long; many zebra wander, and I am no different.”
“…I’m not a zebra.”
“I am no pony.” Zehara said.
“…This is really new to me.”
“It is new for me as well.”
“I… I don’t know what to say, anymore.”
“…I do not either, truly.” Zehara said. “I am but listening to my heart, and trying to heed its silent voice.”
“…How do zebra normally… do this?” he asked.
“It depends.” She told him. “If two or more want the same mare, and the strongest proves himself in overcoming the rest. Otherwise, they must prove themselves to gain her.”
“…And if my trust has been placed well,” she continued, thinking, “and the flames do not burn me this night, then you would have proven yourself beyond any doubt.”
“…I… I’m not making any decision right now.” Dark told her. “But… if you really decide to follow us back then… we can try.”
“…I may have made my choice, already.” Zehara mentioned, and at Dark’s surprise, she told him, “If one wishes to catch the locust, one must be swift, before it leaps to fly away, and never return.”
“My heart has never belonged to the water, anyway.” She finished.
“…I, I don’t,”
“Quiet.” She whispered to him, gently putting a hoof on his mouth. “Let it be quiet, for soon enough, it will not be quiet any longer. Remain here with me, and let us rest in the silence of the night, before the peace is broken.”
Dark didn’t say anything. But after a moment, he gave a tiny nod, and Zehara smiled.
Casca’s tale
“Do not think that!” Sion snapped, Casca startling. Instantly, he leaned back, lowering himself slightly, but he continued, “Your life is so much more.”
“…Speak, Sion, fifth son.” Casca murmured, glaring at him, but allowing him to continue. “Explain.”
“Are the lions who follow you the result of flame and hate?” he asked her, and she paused.
“…They follow me because no den would take them.” She told him. “The last sons of lions, the weak of the whole, the son of the disgraced. They follow for the food I leave in my wake, and for that I care not if they do or do not.”
“Casca… did even one of them not know who you were when they first came?”
Casca hesitated, and then thought. And then she murmured, “…No.”
“You would find it the same amongst the dens as well.” Sion told her.
“…My name is known then, but what of it?” she asked him. “If my name is known it is known because I defeated the males who sought to claim me. Because I dared to defy the will of the dens, to break tradition, to refuse to have anything command me. My flames burn the zebra to ashes, and they have burned my own kind much the same; if my name is known, it is known only as,”
“The burning lioness, whose name my own father does not speak from respect.” Sion interrupted.
“…What?” Casca whispered, eyes wide in shock.
“You are who no prey dares to face; the one who consumes whole herds. The one who burns our mastery into these tall grasses, the lioness whom no male could ever hope to take.” Sion told her. “You say your flames leave nothing but ashes and regrets, but I tell you, it could not be further from the truth. Every den I have gone to knows your name; every one gives you honor and respect as they have given no other.”
“Because there is only one burning lioness.” Sion said, his voice softening. “Only one whom the prey dares not face, only one who cannot be taken, only one who shows the true strength of the lions within herself. Only one, whom my father, greatest of lions, respects.”
“And that lioness is you.”
Casca kept staring, eyes wide, Sion’s own oddly soft. After a moment, and with some purpose, he reached his left paw out towards her. Casca looked at it, and then at him, more shocked than before.
“…Even my father knows he is not worthy.” Sion told her with a small smile. “But I am the fifth son; I know submission. I have merited your claws already.”
“Perhaps I might be offered something more?”
Casca kept staring at him, eyes wide, for several moments. Then she shut them, taking a breath, and reopened them, her gaze softer, uncertain, perhaps even nervous.
“…Sion, I…” she began, her voice soft, before she looked away. “…I, I do not know if I have a place amongst lions. I’ve fought against them, broken every tradition, left every way… I, I could never be the mate you would imagine me to be.”
“I am the fifth son, Casca.” Sion said, smiling. “I do not seek to hold the fire; I seek that the fires hold me.”
“…I go to die this night, Sion.” She said, closing her eyes again, and taking a slow breath. “The cycle has come, and its wrath will,”
“Will burn in your claws, its throat in your jaws.” Sion interrupted, Casca blinking, surprised. “Let its power roar across the savanna, let its light shine bright: your scream shall sound all the louder and farther, and your flames burn ever the brighter.”
“S, Sion, you do not know of what you speak.” Casca said. “What waits for me is nothing that can die.”
“Then you will teach it to fear the lion, and the flame.” Sion said. “For you are the burning lioness. You are our goddess.”
“You are my goddess.”
Casca watched him, seeing his certainty, his faith. She shut her eyes once more, took another breath, and then looked again. Her right paw gently lit aflame, and she reached it over, to gently place it atop his left; the flames hot, but not burning him.
“…I go to face the cycle’s wrath, Sion.” She told him.
“Then go.” He quietly told her. “Go, shatter it as you once swore to, and return, triumphant.”
Casca nodded, and smiled at him, her earlier fear gone. She stood slowly, stretched, and then stood tall, looking out towards the oasis. She then walked down towards the waiting lions, who lifted their heads to see her as she came.
“The prey has seen us, and waits for us, eagerly.” She told them, slowly and silently padding through their number. “A wall of spear and shield lies ahead, and worse just beyond. I go. Who will follow me?”
She passed into the grass, and they followed her, smiling.
Sion watched, and then sat taller, to see better. The distant oasis was bright, easily seen. A bright glow was high above it, Sion just able to make out princess Luna, and wonder what it was he was seeing.
“…Burn them, Casca.” He whispered, shutting his eyes, voicing his hope, hiding his worry. “Burn bright and hot and strong, bring their cycle low, and return to us. To me.”