Then as suddenly the world bled black, the hues of orange and yellow falling to a twisting darkness. It choked out of the life in the memory, claiming it as it consumed the savannah. Everything was gone. It was quiet. It was cold...
"You could have saved them, you know." A voice, an echo of a life left behind.
Bangizwe's head spun quickly, too quickly. The world spun with him, too fast. Everything was unfocused, blurred. He was dizzy, but those golden eyes looked frantically into the void that suddenly surrounded him.
"What do you mean?!"
"Look."
Something warm. It touched his paw. It was...wet.
Bangizwe's throat seized up. Blood. It was blood. So much blood. So much..so much...They were dead. Only some remained from his home, and it was their corpses that dotted what little he could see. It was Andhaka, oh god, it was Andhaka that lit up the shadows though, letting him see the carnage that laid around him. Red was stained, darkening his pelt in a mess that only served to make him ill. Black stripes were mottled, partially hidden. That equally dark mane was torn in places, disheveled and matted to that face that looked so damn peaceful. It was too peaceful, too kind, too forgiving. Andhaka would never go out of this world fighting with that kind of look running across his face.
The thought made the Umholi's blood boil, but in the same breath, his heart cracked, splintering into infinity as golden legs gave out, letting him crumple beside the body. It was warm still.
"You failed them." The voice came again, dark, mocking. It tore him down. Breaking him.
The cry that finally came from Bangizwe's mouth was nothing short of a strangled sob, muffled only by the other Umholi's side pressed firmly against his face. 'This is all a dream', he tried to tell himself, reassure himself that Andahaka wasn't truly dead but the blood that smeared onto his cheek felt so real.
A paw reached for his shoulder. It was familiar but from a distant memory of another life. It was golden, mimicking his own but lighter. Bangizwe's head raised an undignified sniffle the only hint of the hot tears that rolled unchecked down his cheeks. Amber eyes widened in horror at the face that greeted him.
He had been expecting to see his sister, sinister and laughing, tearing him as she always had. Instead, he looked to see the ghost waiting for him. A skeleton, with remnants of a pelt he knows so well clinging to torn muscle that refused to fall from the bone.
"You're dead," Bangizwe whispered under his breath. It couldn't be him. He died, skinned by hyenas who wore him as a trophy, who he had devoured every trace of him until only memories remained. "Brother..." The single word was pleading, apologetic.
"It should have been you."
The Umholi choked. This was a dream, it was all a bad dream. The blood wasn't real. This lion, this remnant was only a specter, a figment of his stressed mind, but..what was happening to him? The sensation of falling to the ground (was there even ground?) was a familiar one. Andhaka's body fell out of sight as the only thing that he could see, that he could allow himself to see, was the skeletal face of his brother, his twin, his kin.
"You failed him, and you'll fail your precious Andhaka. You are a failure, brother. You always have been." There was the voice of their sister, out of sight, but as if she was right beside his ear, whispering those words directly into his soul. He had no time to react. That skull opened, jaw lowering as it lunged at him. Instinctually Bangizwe's eyes widened, mouth open to speak, but nothing came out. Red was all he saw.
A gasp was the only sound that marked Bangizwe rocking himself upright, suddenly awake and mind fuzzy to the world as the words of his plagued mind echoed endlessly. His chest heaved, unable to steady his breathing, his body still fighting in defense of the nightmare that had gripped at him so tightly. Frantically, his eyes searched the lions that slept around him, looking for the body of...
There he was, sleeping, not far from him, but surrounded by lionesses on two sides. Uneasy, Bangizwe stood on shaky legs, making his way around the resting pride. A few cubs were awake, wrestling, but quickly stilled as they spotted the grim Umholi. They simply watched now, shrinking back from him to return to their mother.
In one simple movement, Bangizwe lowered himself to fill the only empty side of Andhaka, pressing his body against the striped one. He needed to feel him, hear his heartbeat, see him breathing. He needed it. His pale chin dropped onto his paws as his laid there, watching the gentle rise and fall of the other Umholi's chest, the way his nostrils flared slightly as he exhaled.
He was alive. He wouldn't fail. Not this time. He couldn't fail. Not with his heart on the line.
At one moment Bangizwe's ears perked, thinking Andhaka stirred only momentarily, likely disturbed by the tawny Umholi's sudden presence. He never woke, only made a small look of unhappiness before he drifted back to sleep fully. A smile tugged at Bangizwe's mouth, genuine, full of love.
A content sigh made its way from Bangizwe's mouth. His body finally relaxing. How long had his muscles been flexed? By now his hammering heart had slowed, his breathing recovered, but his chest still burned and his head ached. By the time the pride would stir and begin waking, one by one, for the morning hunts, he would be better or so his facade would tell the pride's lionesses. He would recover. He always did. After all, this wasn't the first time.
Meepfur
Quoting you for the mention of Andhaka. <3 ps. sorry for all the re-quotes, fixing things.