//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: The Zebra King 
// by Dragon Fruit 
//------------------------------//

The sun rose in the plains, bathing the savanna in the warm, glowing light of dawn. The rhino raised his head as the meerkats stood at attention, with the leopard gazing down the hill, her tail twitching. The storks took flight from the river, flying above the the raging waterfalls, the rising sun painting the raging white water, the pinkish hue of a new day. The elephants marched past the mountains as the small birds flew across the marsh lands ahead. The gazelles bounded through the foggy air and high grasses as the giraffes stared down into the marching herds in valley below, guarding their eyes from the ever rising sun. The zebras trotted towards their destination as the ants busily worked, unconcerned with the momentous occasion that was at hoof. The ostriches hurried to stay out of the way of the elephant tribe's mighty feet, and the zebras led the way as the herds of beasts crossed the river. 

All had one destination in mind: Usawa Mti, a towering tree in the heart of the savanna, with its leaves and branches seeming to spread miles, barely covering the large flat plateau on which it grew. The sun was now high in the sky, and the animals were lined up by tribe; the mighty Tuskegee Elephant tribe of the west, the quick Swift Foot Gazelle tribe of the eastern river, the Water Bird tribes of the northern marsh, and many of the zebra tribes that covered Zebrica. However the most distinguished of the tribes were standing on the hills above: The Claws of the South, the jungle cats. Leopards, Jaguars, Cheetahs, and at the head of the pride, the Lions. Their leader Heshima, looked down at the huge Zebra standing above the tribes on the plateau.
A meerkat scurried up the rocks onto the plateau. He bowed before the huge Zebra before him. Built like a wildebeest, King Kifalme was a force. His skin was as white as snow, but his stripes were as black as night and on his flank he bore the mark of the tribal spear and crown. His emerald green eyes regarded his steward warmly as he smiled and nodded. 

A murmur rushed threw the crowd as a the shaman passed. Busara the Wise was an old baboon, his face gray and blue with a nose of red, rumored to be as old as the savanna itself. He had performed the ceremony for Kifalme, and Kifame's father, and his father before him, at least according to legend. In his right paw he wielded a walking stick twice his size, with many gourdes tied to its top. The tribes cleared a path for the ancient shaman to the base of Usawa Mti. Kifalme's warm smile grew as he saw his old friend and teacher approach. When the Busara ascended the plateau, he opened his arms wide, wrapping his arms around Kifalme, who wrapped his front leg around him in return. They looked to the herd of Zebras at the base of the tree, in particular the mare lying on the floor. Kifalme affectionately rubbed his head against his wife's.

Uzuri returned the gesture. She was lighter than the typical grey zebra, with stripes the color of dusk, rather than a starless night like her husband. A graceful mare, she was tall and sleek, hiding powerful muscles. Her eyes were the gold of the tall grass, with a flower wrapped by a black vine on her flank. Moving her forelegs, she revealed a pure black and white foal nestled against her chest. Both parents proudly smiled at their newborn son. The foal turned to his parents and rubbed his emerald eyes. 

Seeing his son made Kifalme's heart swell with joy and pride. This was his son. This was the future king of the Herdfields. He watched as Busara moved past him. Staring down at the young foal, Busara smiled, and began waving his stick and paw above the child, the gourds shaking and rattling above his head. The colt eyes followed the shaking gourds growing closer and closer, reaching out a tiny hoof to batt the largest one above him. Busara cracked open the gourd and with his thumb, wiped the red juice from the gourd, onto the child's forehead. Then shaking on some dust from the earth in front of him as well, Busara smiled as the young prince sneezed. His parents nuzzled each other in delight as they watched the process.
Busara gently lifted the foal from between his mother's legs, holding him against his chest with a smile. Looking to the approving parents, he turned and walked to the edge of the plateau, into the view of the waiting masses below. He stopped, and staring down at the tribes, he lifted the colt high into the air for all to see. The effect was immediate-the beasts cheered, a deafening melody of bellows, chatters, neighs, and squeals. Even the the Claws let loose mighty roars and screams, all the while the foal was staring at the procession curiously from his high vantage.

As the Herdfields bellowed at the presentation of their new king, the branches of Usawa Mti parted, and the beams of the sun bathed the foal in its light. Beginning with the zebras, then the elephants, and the giraffes, one by one the beast tribes of the Savannah bowed to their new prince. The Claws stared at the foal, some respect, and some with disgust. Heshima finally bowed low his head, and the rest of the Claws followed suit, many with reluctance. This was not lost on Kifalme, who in turn gently nodded his head in return. The chants of the were in clear and in usion.

Long Live the Zebra King. All hail Prince Ujasiri.