Nyira's sand-colored fur melted into the tall yellow grass, only the faintest flick of her tail betraying her presence. The wind brushed over her ears, carrying the smell of dust, sweat, and prey. Her amber eyes were half-lidded, focused. Unblinking. Patient.

Her body moved like a ghost—smooth, low, deadly. But not invisible.

Not to those who knew where to look.

The scar on her shoulder, where no fur grew, caught flashes of light whenever she shifted her weight. Her left ear, still notched from a fight moons ago, twitched as the call of a hornbill echoed across the plain.

She crept forward, her paws silent against the baked earth.

Ahead, the herd grazed—thin-legged impalas, half-asleep in the heat, ears twitching lazily. The wind was right. The pride was in position. Everything was set.

She paused in the golden grass, glancing toward the right where Hunter crouched beside Shira, tails still, eyes hard. To the left, Shadow flattened against a slope, her body coiled like a spring.

All of them waited. Perfectly timed. Perfectly placed.

And Nyira saw it.

An opening.

One impala—the smallest—was drifting too far from the group, angling toward a gully in the land. A clear blind spot. An easy ambush. She could cut it off. She could bring it down fast.

Why wait? her rogue instincts whispered. You don't need them. You've done this alone.

Her claws unsheathed. Her weight shifted.

She didn't see Hunter glance her way.
She didn't hear the low, warning growl from Shadow.

She lunged.

The grass exploded under her paws as she shot forward like a thrown spear.

The impalas screamed and bolted.

Too early.
Too loud.
Too fast.

The herd scattered in all directions, a chaos of limbs and dust. Hunter broke formation with a snarl. Shira cursed and charged after the wrong target. Shadow's carefully calculated angle crumbled instantly. The hunt had fallen apart.

Nyira chased her target, closing the gap. Her claws caught fur—then air. The impala veered left, disappeared into the thornbrush.

Gone.

Breathing hard, Nyira skidded to a stop. The dust hadn't even settled before the growls began.

Nesrin, her red-brown coat streaked with sweat and fury, stalked toward Nyira with a snarl curled on her lips.

"You cost us the kill!" she barked, her yellow eyes blazing. "You hunt like a loner!"

Nyira spun around, still breathing hard, her fur bristling with adrenaline. "I was a loner," she snapped. "What did you expect me to do—wait and watch the prey vanish? I saw an opening."

"No," Nesrin snarled, stepping closer, teeth bared. "You saw yourself. You acted for you. Not for us."

Nyira hissed low in her throat, her ears flattening. "I did what I knew. I hunted how I was taught—how I survived."

Hunter was already pacing beside Mirembe, her eyes locked on Nyira like a snake sizing up prey. "I told you she didn't belong on the hunter team," she spat, tail lashing. "She's too wild. Too unpredictable."

Mirembe didn't speak, but her silence was a slow confirmation. Her whiskers twitched once, and that was enough.

A chorus of growls rippled through the group.

Shadow roared, stepping forward with a flick of her tail. "You want to hunt like a rogue, then stay a rogue. We hunt as one."

Nyira's breath caught. Her claws dug into the dirt, heart pounding, pride burning.

And then—

A deep, unmistakable growl rolled across the clearing like thunder.

Zuribra.

He stepped through the grass with all the force of a storm—shoulders broad, green eyes sharp and glowing beneath the sun's dying light.

"Enough."

The lionesses fell into uneasy silence as he approached. Even Shadow bowed her head slightly.

Zuribra's gaze locked on Nyira, unreadable for a breath. Then he turned to the others.

"She made a mistake. One you've all made once. Don't forget that."

Nesrin scoffed, not looking at him. "A mistake from a pride sister is forgivable. A mistake from a rogue? That gets us killed."

Zuribra's growl deepened. "She is under my protection. She learns as she lives. You would have her starve in silence?"

Hunter bared her teeth slightly but said nothing.

Zuribra stepped closer to Nyira now, his voice low but firm. "Next time,do as the other."

Nyira met his gaze, tail twitching. She gave a stiff nod, jaw clenched.

But the damage had been done.

She could feel their stares—hot, cold, sharp.

Zuribra had shielded her.

But the pride's teeth were bared.

And next time… they might not hold back.

The moment Zuribra stepped back, the rest of the lionesses slowly began to retreat.

Shadow turned with a snort, her tail slicing through the air in disgust. Nesrin muttered something under her breath as she walked away, shaking dust from her paws like Nyira's presence had stained her.

But it was Hunter who lingered longest, her eyes narrowed—not just in anger, but in calculation.

She moved closer to Mirembe, and the two began speaking in low tones, just loud enough for Nyira to catch a few words as they turned their backs.

"…Next hunt needs change… can't keep letting him protect her…"

"…Too much power in one lion's paw…"

Nyira's ears twitched.

She stood alone in the clearing, the failed hunt still weighing heavy in the dust. Her chest rose and fell with the last traces of adrenaline. She could taste the bitterness of shame at the back of her throat.

Then—

Soft pawsteps approached behind her.

She didn't turn until she heard the voice.

"I saw what you tried."

Nyira glanced over her shoulder.

Shira stood a few paces away—young, not much more than a season into adulthood, her fur a pale, almost ethereal cream, eyes a quiet shade of green like sunlit grass.

She wasn't tall like Shadow or broad like Hunter. But her gaze was clear, unafraid.

"Next time…" she said gently, her tail flicking behind her, "…wait for the signal."

Nyira blinked. She wasn't sure what surprised her more—the words, or the calmness with which they were said.

Shira stepped a little closer, keeping her voice low, careful. "It's better than angry growls."

A beat passed. The quiet buzz of flies returned to the clearing. Somewhere, a distant cub let out a chirping call, and Nyira could still hear Mirembe and Hunter's murmurs dissolving into the wind.

Nyira nodded once. "Noted."

Shira gave a faint flick of her whiskers, almost like a smile—but didn't linger. She turned and padded off after the others, slipping into the tall grass with the light-footed grace of someone who had learned to listen before she roared.

Nyira remained a moment longer.

Alone. Again.

But this time, a little less so.