The days grew hotter, and the dry wind blew dust over the savanna, swirling it into the air like restless spirits. Nyira had learned to nap in the shade of low trees or against the warm sides of sleeping lionesses. Her body was no longer as tense, her steps less cautious. But her ears were always half-turned, listening—never fully at rest.

She’d stayed close to Zuribra these last few days. Closer than before.

Her heat had coiled tight like a storm, and when it peaked again—her legs shaking with want, her thoughts muddied with instinct—Zuribra was there.

It wasn’t like before.

This time, he didn’t just nuzzle or tease.

He watched her.

Waited.

Until she lowered her head.

Until she stepped toward him and brushed her cheek to his shoulder, a lioness's quiet call for acceptance.

Zuribra answered without words. Just a low, rolling growl in his chest as he circled her. His tail flicked over her flank. She hissed, ears flat, not from anger—just from the fire in her belly.

When he mounted her, it was with strength and heat and something possessive.

But there was gentleness, too.

A moment she didn’t expect—his forehead pressing lightly between her shoulders before the bite came. A grounding bite. The kind that said: you are mine.

And she let it happen.

She didn’t fight him.

Didn’t pretend to snarl.

Didn’t run away.

When it was over, Zuribra stayed beside her, curling his long body near hers, mane brushing her back like tangled grass. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. Their breath came in slow rhythm, in and out.

And as the heat faded over the next days, so did the ache.

Nyira no longer snapped when a lioness brushed against her. She stopped sleeping far from the kill. She even started grooming herself while sitting in the center of the pride—her tongue slow, ears relaxed.

The cubs liked her. One often curled up against her back leg when she napped. She let it. Shadow—the cubs’ mother—had even nuzzled her once without a single hiss exchanged.

She was no longer the outsider.

But she wasn't fully one of them either.

She didn’t groom the others much. Didn't join the chorus of growls during communal hunts. She still hunted alone some nights, taking down hares or young antelope and eating before she returned.

And while the lionesses sometimes chuffed in greeting, their eyes still flicked sideways. Still watched.

Zuribra seemed aware. He never pushed her to join more. Never asked her to behave like the others. But he always looked for her—always found her at the edge, laying in the tall grass just a little apart.

He would walk to her without speaking, lower himself down, and their flanks would touch. That was all.

Enough.

One afternoon, a strong breeze danced through the grass. The pride rested under the Marula Tree. Nyira lay half-dozing, watching leaves flutter above.

A cub approached, pawing at her tail.

She opened one eye.

It was the younger one—Suma. Tiny, round, bold. He growled and batted her nose.

She growled back, low and lazy.

He squeaked and ran in circles.

Nyira chuckled.

Hunter, the lioness, came over, gave her a brief nod, and plopped beside her with a huff. “You’re good with him,” she murmured.

Nyira blinked. “I didn’t bite him.”

“That’s enough for most of us.” Hunter gave a slow blink of amusement. “You’ve changed.”

Nyira licked her paw, expression unreadable. “I haven’t.”

Hunter tilted her head, thoughtful. “Maybe just softened?”

Nyira’s ears twitched. “Maybe just tired.”

Hunter didn’t push, only let out a soft purr before resting her head on her paws.

Later that night, as stars peppered the sky and insects hummed, Nyira lay beside Zuribra on a rise above the Marula Tree. The savanna stretched like a dark ocean before them.

“You look like you belong,” he said.

She didn’t answer right away. The wind shifted her mane slightly, and she watched a hyena skulk in the far distance.

“I sleep where I want,” she finally said.

Zuribra chuckled.

“Still stubborn.”

“Still free.”

He moved closer, their shoulders brushing. “You can be both.”

She looked at him, amber eyes sharp but not hostile. “Can I?”

Zuribra lowered his head beside hers, green eyes meeting hers with that unreadable weight he always carried. “You already are.”

For a long time, they said nothing more.

And in the silence, Nyira’s tail curled slightly around his.

Not wrapped. Not caught.

Just touching.

The next morning, the sun rose heavy and gold, washing the savanna in blinding light. The grasses whispered as the pride stirred, stretching and yawning, cubs rolling over each other in play.

Nyira padded out early, shaking sleep from her limbs. Her coat shimmered in the morning glow, muscles loose under sun-warmed fur. She climbed a low slope and stood there, silent, ears twitching at the far-off sounds of distant herds.

Zuribra joined her after a while. She didn’t turn to him, but she felt his steps—silent but sure—like a steady drumbeat behind her.

He stood beside her, shoulder brushing hers.

Neither spoke.

The wind carried scents—dust, heat, the faint musk of distant prey.

“I saw you,” Zuribra said at last, his voice deep and quiet.

Nyira turned her eyes to him.

“With the cub,” he continued. “You didn’t bare your teeth once.”

Nyira flicked her tail. “He didn’t deserve it.”

Zuribra let out a soft chuff of amusement. “You're changing.”

“I’m adjusting.”

“Same thing.”

Nyira glanced away again, eyes narrowing at a fluttering shadow in the grasses far below. “No. It’s not.”

Zuribra didn’t argue.

He just stood with her.

That was what Nyira had come to appreciate the most—Zuribra’s presence. He didn’t push. Didn’t prod. He simply existed beside her. A quiet strength. A warm flank. A knowing look.

The lionesses were different. They lived by each other’s movements—constant communication through tail flicks, grunts, head rubs. Nyira still watched from a slight distance, unsure when to step in and when to pull away.

That evening, they feasted on a zebra taken down by the main huntresses. Nyira waited until the others had filled their bellies. She approached last, head low, tail relaxed—not in submission, but in acknowledgment. A lioness snorted but said nothing. Nyira tore at the flank quietly, ate quickly, then stepped away again.

As she licked her paw clean, Zuribra sat beside her, chewing at a bone.

He nudged it toward her. “Chew. It’s good for your teeth.”

She batted it back with one paw, amused. “You sound like my mother.”

Zuribra’s lip twitched. “She was smart, then.”

They sat in silence again, but this time the silence was comfortable.

That night, Nyira woke from a dream of running through rain. She blinked slowly, heart racing, then turned her head to see Zuribra sleeping near her, mane tousled, flank rising and falling.

For the first time, she didn’t move away.

Instead, she leaned closer, brushing her nose just behind his ear, where his scent was strongest. He stirred but didn’t wake. A soft purr rumbled in his chest.

She lay down again and closed her eyes.

And for the first time, she slept without waking before dawn.

Days passed. Her heat ebbed completely now, leaving her limbs steady, her mind clearer. She trained one of the younger lionesses to move quietly through the grass, taught a cub how to pounce with less stumbling.

Even the older lionesses began to acknowledge her in new ways—a grooming lick across her ear here, a shared growl of warning when a jackal passed too close there.

She was no longer just tolerated.

She was becoming known.

Yet even so, at night when the pride settled together under the Marula Tree, Nyira often found herself lying just slightly apart, gaze turned toward the stars.

She didn’t fully understand what it was she still searched for.

But she knew one thing:

Whatever she had become…

…she was not a pride lioness.

Not yet.

Not quite.

One night, as the full moon rose, Zuribra came to lie beside her again. The silver light outlined his features—his sharp cheekbones, the dark ring under his eye, the curve of his shoulder.

“You still sleep like you expect to run,” he murmured.

Nyira grunted. “Old habits.”

“I could teach you how to sleep like you belong.”

She snorted. “What does that mean?”

Zuribra leaned in close, nose grazing her cheek, voice low and teasing: “It means letting someone curl their tail around yours without thinking they’re going to steal your kill.”

Nyira huffed a laugh. “You’d try anyway.”

“I’d ask first.”

They looked at each other.

Then, with a slow, silent movement, Nyira laid her tail alongside his.

Not wrapped.

Not caught.

Just touching.

And this time—it stayed.

“New life…” Kova had said.

Her ears pinned back.

She sniffed the air. Her own scent. The faintest change in her body.

She felt... different.

Nyira lay down on her belly slowly. She didn’t close her eyes.

She waited.

And as the wind passed through the grass, a shape moved behind the tree.

Kova.

Just a glimpse.

Watching.