THE LION KING: THE FREAK

The Lion King: The Freak
Chapter 19: Exile V: Fall of the Banghar Clan

(I’m surprised that I’m on track to complete this chapter on schedule! Let’s hope my good luck prevails. In contrast with the previous chapter, this one will be heavy on action and light on boring sh—that is, other stuff. Bad language will be kept to a minimum, but there is going to be plenty of reasonably intense violence in this chapter. Don’t worry; if you’ve gotten through the fanfiction so far, you should be good. Almost forgot—there’s a bit of humor in this chapter that’s unlike anything I’ve hit you with before. Read on to find out what it is, and how it relates to the title.)

Damn.

No, wait—let’s try that again.

Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn.

That’s what most beings not native to Hindustan would have said, just then. Not Freak, though. The li-tigon was silent by nature, and, with no one to talk to, he had no reason to waste words.

Instead, his awe was expressed in silence. It was expressed by the way he sometimes stopped, from time to time, just shaking his head in wonder… That, and the fact that he had given up traversing through the treetops to swim through them.

I’m not kidding: this Hindustani storm, the opening attack of the Season of the Rains, was some kind of intense.

Freak had survived serious weather conditions before. In fact, before his second year passed, he’d found out the sense in toughening up his home in the southern portion of the Jungle against water and mud and whatever it might bring with it… the hard way.

(Note: Just to clarify, Freak’s log is closed off at both ends.)

“Should have prepared better. Should have reinforced log’s walls with mud and moss. Should have barricaded entrance. Should have readied escape route and alternative, temporary shelter. Now, I’ll pay for these mistakes. Fortune favors the prepared, and misfortune favors the unprepared. I may not live through this storm.”

To be honest, Freak’s grim acceptance of whatever fight might befall him was a little extreme, a little uncalled for. On the other hand, the li-tigon was, after all, hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst, mentally… erm, perhaps he wasn’t so heavy on the hopeful part.

But still.

By now, he’d stayed at the log for a good few months. He’d grown, some, but the slowly-decaying structure was still very roomy and very comfortable for him; in fact, he was considering putting in a Jacuzzi and new kitchenette—that is, the li-tigon cub had no plans of leaving the log anytime soon. It was certainly an adequate shelter for him, ninety five percent of the time.

But it had its flaws, and these flaws were compounded by the cloudburst that had extended, expanding into a day-long thunderstorm that was, even then, saturating the Jungle with wave after wave of water.

Above the treetops, beyond the canopy, winds were high and the rain flew sideways. But on the forest floor, Freak was protected from the cold and the stinging, potentially injurious rain. But all that water had to go somewhere, regardless.

So, resultantly, the Jungle floor was slowly being swamped under first centimeters, then inches of water. Already, if Freak was to leave his log, he’d be up to his neck in water, and he wasn’t a good swimmer. Worse, the storm showed no signs of ending, and Freak was struggling to rearrange what moss and organic material there was in the log to hem the slowly growing number of leaks in its outer shell. It wasn’t a battle he was winning.

The li-tigon cub was dirty; a trickle of mud trailed down his right eyebrow, falling over his scarred eyelid. The mahogany-tan of his fur was darkened by saturation with soil, and the small mane that he had was no longer visible, flattened against his chest and neck with dampness.

Hopefully, the rain would let up soon. If it didn’t, the level of the water outside would exceed the height of the log, and Freak’s home would be flooded. He’d have to leave, and try to swim… somewhere. Perhaps he’d be able to wait out the storm in a tree, but after that, he’d have to find new shelter.

A loud clap of thunder followed a fur-rising strike of lightning not far away that lit up the log’s dark inside for a moment. Freak worked faster still, but then, for some reason, suddenly froze. Assuming a fighting stance, he backed away to the far end of the log, then one that was struck by the flow of water first. The open top was a few feet in front of him, so if something came pouring in, the li-tigon cub would be safe, for a moment at least.

The log’s opening was shielded from rain by a tall, strong tree next to it. But there was nothing shielding it from attack from another angle.

Now, before the Lion Sheikh explains to you exactly what happens next, you have to understand just how stressed and jumpy Freak was at this point. It was storming, hard, and the only home he’d ever known was in imminent danger of catastrophic failure. He was tired from about an hour of hard work, and hadn’t eaten for some time—he wasn’t in the best of conditions.

There was a finger or so of rain that had collected in the bottom of the log, and the large, blood-warm drops that continued to fly from the sky made large, dirty splashes in the collected water when they struck it. Sporadically, the Jungle was lit up by sudden, intense blasts of lightning, so powerful that dull, throbbing afterimages burned into Freak’s eyes.

Add to that a large, dangerous, panicked foe, and Freak had a situation ripe for disaster.

When the fish came, it didn’t come in peace. It breached and entered Freak’s home, smashing through the log’s top, blasting off large, thick splints of wood. One moment, Freak was standing in tense, prepared caution, ready to fight for his life. The next, he was doing it.

It was a catfish—a big one. Built like a torpedo, its gray, slimy, naked form was as big around as Freak.

The being made its way to the back of the log, managing to swim in the little bit of water that there was. Its tail splashed water into the li-tigon cub’s face, making him sputter and gasp for breath, struggling to keep his eyes open in case he was attacked. The whole time, Freak couldn’t ignore the nagging warning in the back of his skull, telling him that he needed to keep securing the walls of his home.

But at the same time, the li-tigon couldn’t help but feel just a little sympathy for the catfish. For all he knew, the nonsentient had been flushed out of its home by sheer water force, or a predator, and forced into an unknown, hostile environment. Even now, the catfish was gasping for breath—it wasn’t going to live long, unless it got out of the log and back into water.

Freak’s sympathy died, though, as the fish reached the end of the log, and turned. Its eyes were frightened, helpless, but threatening, as they met the li-tigon’s. Instantly, Freak calculated, even as the fish struggled towards him, seeing him as an obstacle between itself and escape.

The fish had its spiny fins extended, and thus, blocked most of the log with either its body or the threat of getting skewered with a venomous stinger. Odds of scampering past the catfish, perhaps after a feinted attacked, were slim, especially when the fish’s thrashing motions and the li-tigon’s lack of energy were factored in. Even if Freak did manage to get out of the log, what then? He’d either have to swim for dear life, or sit and pray that his log held out. Neither contingency was desirable for the li-tigon.

But he didn’t want to fight, either. He was tired and he was wet and he was cold, and he only wanted to survive. Hell, in the state the li-tigon was in, he might have even been willing to negotiate, to share his home with the catfish. But you can’t negotiate with a non-sentient anymore than you can negotiate with a doorknob.

Still, Freak found himself pressed to the far end of the log, not in fear, but in reluctance to fight a fight he wasn’t apt to win. But then, slowly, grim determination took over, and the li-tigon extended his claws, bouncing on his paws to both warm his muscles and psyche himself up.

“My home. This is my home. Not yours. You need to leave. So, leave now. Leave now, or I’ll kill you. Do it. Now. I’ll kill you. I’m not lying. I will kill you to defend what’s mine.”

For a moment, Freak dared hope that the catfish had been scared out of assault by the assertive, defensive posture he took. The non-sentient froze, for a second…

But then, it attacked.

It wasn’t smart, though; it jumped into the air in a long dive, and tried to take hold of Freak in its jaws. Rather than dodging or parrying, though, the li-tigon cub met force with force.

Shifting to the side, a little, Freak moved forward, just a little. That gave him space and the brief advantage of distance. His right paw picked up off the log’s floor, turned, sharp claws flashing, and slammed upwards into the catfish’s floating jaw.

They pierced through skin and flesh without difficulty, inducing massive blood loss instantly. Additionally, the force of the blow coupled with the li-tigon’s slight sidestep put him out of the fish’s line of attack. It’s momentum carried it on, so that Freak’s claws sliced open its belly. Ichor and entrails spilled, but the li-tigon didn’t turn—the catfish was no longer a threat. He faced forward, face not quite emotionless—harsh satisfaction cast a somewhat disquieting overlay across his young features, as he practically whispered; the rainstorm quieting as if to let his voice be heard.

“I told you.”

Oh, Freak had lived through that storm, of course. His log had held out, if barely, and the first thing the li-tigon cub had done when the rains had subsided was to cake it with clay-rich mud, strengthening it.

But the Hindustani Season of the Rains made that cloudburst seem like a drizzle.

For two full days, now, the skies hadn’t cleared. A more or less constant torrent of rain soaked the land to its bone, and Freak had to pause, clinging to a tree, to acknowledge a great deal of respect for any beings that managed to live through the Season of the Rains.

“I may not live through this storm, either.”

Freak sniffed a few times, and looked around. His senses of smell and hearing and taste and touch were useless, more or less, due to the rainfall; he had to rely almost solely on sight. And even then, the Rains limited visibility to only a few dozen yards. The li-tigon had to trust fate to not throw him into the hands of hunters, or the Banghar Clan, or that tiger, because he couldn’t avoid them on his own.

He was carried downstream, like everything else, towards a churning river that had long since overfilled. Freak didn’t bother to try to stop himself; he allowed the water to shove him along as it might, only taking the trouble to keep his head above water. He needed to keep moving no matter what, so he might as well take advantage of the Rains for that small favor.

Everything Freak saw was gray. It seemed as if the Rains had washed away color itself; the unending, unrelenting bucketing of water down on Freak obfuscated his vision down to almost the point of uselessness.

Maybe there was something underwater.

“I might as well check,” Freak thought dully, “I have nothing better to do.”

On that note, the li-tigon took in a deep breath, then plunged his head below the surface.

The water might have been described as icy—but it wasn’t all that cold. No, Freak had just grown accustomed to Hindustan’s scorching heat. Still, he’d been in the water for a few hours, now, and had long since grown accustomed to them. He wasn’t complaining.

Flooded with water, things certainly looked different. In a feline approximation of doggy-paddle—a stable, sustainable, controllable style of swimming that let Freak move slowly, getting as good a view as possible—he saw grasses dancing, as if trapped in slow motion, in the gallons and gallons of water that drowned them. The current at the surface was fast, but down here, it seemed, the same didn’t hold true. Flowers and branches and plants seemed to sway, gyrating in a macabre waltz, but Freak paddled back to the rapidly moving surface. There was nothing to see.

Maybe, though, he could gain a vantage point, somehow, and scout out the area around him, or at least get his bearings. Of course, the probability of achieving either objective was low, but Freak had nothing better to do. He’d prefer to be doing something, or trying to, than to just float along, uselessly.

The gharials had trained Freak well, and he used the skills he’d learned from them to swim, strongly, out of the water’s most powerful currents to trees that, for the moment, were still standing. One in particular towered another ten feet above the water’s turbulent surface. The li-tigon extended his claws and latched onto it, but the water dragged at him. He was going to have to fight for every inch, but it was alright. He was in no hurry.

Well, he was in no hurry, until he saw… that.

Revolted, the li-tigon ran straight up the tree’s side, and stood on a thick, powerful branch. His tail was soaked, so that prevented it from growing bushy, but it still lashed around rapidly, wringing water off that was quickly replaced by the huge, blood-warm drops that continuously soaked the land.

“At that time, they said that the cubs and the food would wait. I assumed that they were leaving their children behind, perhaps with a small guard contingent, so that they’d be safe from… me. But this Season, it seems, is bad. So… I suppose there is, perhaps, the merest taste of logic to this…”

Not that that made it acceptable, or easier to watch. And Freak wasn’t one to be easily shaken by the sight of blood—the li-tigon had a strong stomach. He’d drank milk from his dead mother before his hour alive had ended—just for example, y’know. In case you forgot, or something.

But really, there’s nothing—no, correction. There may have been a few things that could have prepared Freak for what he saw, then, but they’re so far removed from plausibility and appropriateness that the Lion Sheikh won’t speculate on their nature.

Freak had killed the young and the old before. He’d massacred, he’d decimated foes to such an extreme degree that their bodies couldn’t be recognized. But he’d done it for food or some reasonable purpose, and he’d shown his enemies respect. This… it was different.

The Banghar Clan, it seemed, had more children than Freak remembered; that might have something to do with the fact that they were the last thing on his mind when he’d seen them—their parents were of slightly more concern to him.

Now, though, the mongoose cubs were floating along, dipping above and below the water’s surface…

Headless. Limbless. Cut open and gutted. Slaughtered.

It was gut-churning for even the li-tigon; he had to lean over and retch. Spitting, once, to clear his maw of the bitter taste in it, Freak looked up, just in time to see a pathetically small, infantile body bump into his tree, bounce off, arms spinning as if in some twisted approximation of a dance, before moving on.

Panting, breathing hard, Freak found himself wondering, disgusted, if his spiritual enlightenment had weakened his tolerance for death and destruction, and if that was necessarily a bad thing. But then, he was distracted, and stood bolt upright. Tail freezing, his ears perked up, and he stared, squinting, trying to penetrate the rain and the water vapor that resulted from it. He heard something, something soft and high-pitched and fast approaching.

The sounds Freak was hearing were, in fact, a series of squeals, of pleas for help. And, a second later, the li-tigon saw their source.

It was a tigress, a tigress kitten, in fact, that was only a hundred feet or so away. Wide-eyed, Freak watched her struggle to keep her head above the water, even as the powerful currents and waves buffeted her light, hapless form around with neither mercy nor regard.

She couldn’t see the li-tigon, but Freak could see her. Shaking his head off, once, so that long, triangular spikes of fur rested against his face, he watched, soundlessly, as she passed him.

“She can’t swim…”

Indeed, it was a wonder that she’d been able to stay afloat for so long as it was. The kitten disappeared from Freak’s sight for a moment, as a wave crashed over her. But when it cleared… she was no longer there at the surface.

She was under it.

Freak could see her form fall, slowly, underwater. She struggled, weakly, but there was no hope for her, none at all. Not unless he risked his own life to save her—she was heading directly for a long stretch of treacherous, rocky rapids. Even if the li-tigon tried to help her now… he could easily be torn apart by the powerful, rolling sea.

Struggling with himself mentally as well as physically, claws clenching and unclenching from the tree, Freak’s muscles were tense—half were trying to propel him into the water, towards the kitten, but the other half were holding him back, stopping him from doing the same.

“I should leave her for the dead. After all, I have to get back to the Land of the Spirits to help more beings there; I can’t risk my life for one, here…”

A second had passed. Freak saw the kitten’s form fall ever further, down towards a watery grave, a far, far too early water grave… and acted.

He leaped out into the air, folding up his paws so that his form was as aerodynamic as possible. Taking in as big of a breath as possible, he looked, quickly, and saw that if he was lucky, he might be able to drag the kitten to safety before they both reached the rapids. Maybe.

Freak struck the water, slashing into it with a remarkably small splash. Kicking, hard, he opened his eyes, and swam towards the kitten as quickly as he could. Her eyes were closed, by now, and she wasn’t moving—she might already be dead… but Freak refused to give up. He was not trying to save her—he was going to save her.

“I’m risking my life for you, little one. Don’t insult me by dying,” the li-tigon thought harshly, as he reached the kitten. Opening his jaws, he grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. They were at ground level, now, and Freak kicked off of the soft, yielding jungle floor to try to get back to the surface, back to safety before they were dragged down to the rapids.

His hearing was muffled, and his sight was, too, as a surprising amount of foliage and refuse was in the water. Regardless, the li-tigon knew that he’d have to swim hard if he didn’t want to be pulverized by the approaching rapids.

Freak’s head broke free of the water’s surface. He was still holding the tigress kitten dutifully, though she was unconscious. He was facing the onslaught of water, paddling, hard, as the roar of fluid being broken apart by rocks increased. Glancing over his shoulder, Freak was jolted by the proximity of the rapids, and kicked even harder, using all four limbs to push against the water, to get away from the rapids.

But it was too late, and he knew it.

So, the li-tigon stopped paddling, and turned. Instantly, he and the kitten in his teeth were sucked down, down, into the heart of the churning, frothy water.

Freak tried to avoid rocks and whirlpools and other unduly dangerous parts of the rapids, but it was almost pointless. The current threw him around like he was nothing, squashing the air from his lungs and replacing it with water… but, no matter what, the li-tigon did not allow his jaws to slacken. He was not going to let go of the kitten, no matter what.

How long he was thrown around by the water, how many times he slammed into rocks and logs and how many times he found himself gasping for air but inhaling nothing but water, Freak didn’t know. What he did know was that, eventually, he broke free of the rapids, and was able to paddle, slowly, towards dry land on the side of a nearby hill.

Panting, gasping, Freak heaving, and brought up some of the water in him. Rain was washing down the hillside, eroding the relatively dry land away even as the li-tigon stood on it. It threatened to wash away the tigress kitten as well, but Freak placed a powerful, unyielding paw in her way, preventing her from sliding back into the current.

It was then that the grown cat realized that, perhaps, she hadn’t survived, or was in desperate need of advanced medical attention. So, he quickly got up, ignoring his exhaustion, and stood over the young feline. Brow furrowed with concern, Freak used a paw to tilt her head to one side, then the other, then closed his eyes, and felt her neck, her chest.

Taking advantage of the brief lull in the craziness to calm himself, a little, Freak slowly sighed, and drew his paw away. She was alive and healthy, though unconscious.

“I’m glad to see my efforts weren’t in vain,” the li-tigon thought, as he slumped over between her and the raging, roaring water with the intent of taking a very, very long catnap, “I suppose I’ll just wait here, with her, until she wakes up. What I do after that… is something that should be decided later.”

“ I’m tired.”

Freak didn’t fall asleep, really; he wasn’t in what the one might call a comfortable position, constantly sliding down the slope of that wet, muddy hill, inches from dangerous, deadly water. He did rest, though, shutting his eyes, and only opening them now and then to check on the kitten in front of him.

Eventually, the rain died down, a little, into a dull, misting din that was actually quite peaceful and even relaxing, therapeutic, for the exhausted li-tigon. He’d been through a lot in so little time… but, to be fair, that was the story of his life—it was as dynamic and rapid as the churning, stormy river all around him.

Maybe there was a lesson to be learned in that, Freak mused. “Always be prepared for change… no. Take nothing for granted?... that’s good, but I think there’s much more to be learned. There always is.”

Things really had quieted down, and though Freak knew that such peace would not last for long in the Season of the Rains, he took advantage of it, and lowered his head, finally going to sleep. When the kitten woke up, he’d be right there for her, and then, together, they’d work out their next move.

Minutes passed.

Then hours.

And then, after even the three-quarters lion freak felt enough discomfort to get up from his sleep, he realized something.

The kitten was not awake, and didn’t look like she would wake up for… quite some time yet.

Curled up into a ball, she was whimpering, softly, sometimes saying random or incoherent phrases. “No, Daddy, please, I’m sorry….” or, “I’m hungry...”

Huh. The cub was comatose, like Freak had been for who knew how long when he’d first entered Hindustan.

But what now? The li-tigon had been willing to save her, sure, but he certainly couldn’t carry her around forever, right? He wasn’t a father, but more to the point, he was being tracked by that tiger, the Banghar Clan, and human hunters as well. He couldn’t keep her with him, putting her in danger—and he had important things to do, as well. He had to find some way to find Asal’s human friend, or, failing that, find a way back to the Land of the Spirits without assistance… …somehow.

Freak’s options left much to be desired, but rather than allowing himself to be overwhelmed, the li-tigon decided to break his goals down into simple, achievable objectives, and focus on those objectives individually: first things first.

“My first concern,” the li-tigon thought, stretching, a little, glad to feel his muscles back in working order, “is to care for this cub, of course. I’ll hunt something and feed her if I have to, but I need to find someone willing to take responsibility for her, because I can’t. I’m not a father, and… I don’t think I ever will be.”

“So. I need someone, here in Hindustan, someone totally selfless, totally ready to accept a feline cub, a predator, into his house and nurse her back to health. I need someone that can offer her protection, food, and medical care…”

“…”

“I’m ashamed that it’s taken me so long to think of them.”

“Salim, and his family… they’ll take her in.”

”They took me in, and I am certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this kitten will be a better guest, and better company, than I. Look at her…” Despite her pathetic condition and the fact that she’d just been doused more thoroughly than was healthy, the young tigress was strikingly beautiful. Shit—looking at her, Freak felt a strange sense of déjà vu; Asal bore some resemblance to her…

Pah. Impossible. That would be too coincidental, and Asal’s husband would never neglect his daughter, and Asal’s, to a degree that she would find herself in such a situation. No—this cub was an orphan. That, or her parents were so abusive and neglectful that they shouldn’t even be considered parents.

Still, though, the kitten had light fur: an almost pure-white underbelly, that spread out and threatened to envelope her form. Light orange topped her fur, as if God had ground a whole lot of cinnamon on top of her prior to birth, and reddish stripes licked up the tigress kitten’s sides like long, slim tongues of flame. A strawberry ice-cream nose finished the look of an absolutely delectable—that is, gorgeous creature.

Freak hated being sidetracked, but what was his alternative? Wander around Hindustan, endlessly, seeking out humans, praying that eventually he’d just come across Asal’s friend? He’d spend the rest of his life a nomad, if he tried that. No… the li-tigon had an immediate objective. For now, it was best to focus on accomplishing it.

“I’ll take her to Salim and the gharials. I’ll ask them if they know anything about humans that might be friendly to my cause, or if they can somehow help me. If I’m unlucky on both fronts, which is a near certainty…”

“…Then, I suppose, I’ll just have to bait every single human I come across. Eventually, I’ll either find Asal’s friend.”

“Or I’ll die.”

“…No, I… won’t die. I’ve lived through so much… no. No human or group of humans is going to kill me. Either I’ll find Asal’s friend, or I’ll walk back to the Land of the Spirits. I don’t care if I wear my paws to the bone—I refuse to abandon my friends and family.”

By the time Freak had arrived at that conclusion, he was on the move again. The kitten’s neck scruff was in his jaws, as he began to swim. The water was freezing, but the li-tigon didn’t have to get through that much of it to make it to higher grounds.

Shaking himself off, as the rain had let up totally for at least some time, Freak looked up at the sky. It was thick and gray and angry, churning with water that demanded to fall. The sun wasn’t easily visible, but a dim, glowing, circular outline said that it was the middle of the afternoon.

Hindustan, Freak noted, as he walked along, still carrying the cub in his jaws, looked totally different wet. Branches and leaves and plants were no longer rigidly vertical; they sagged with the weight of the water that had collected on them or beaten them into submission.

The country looked somewhat bleak and hopeless, but the li-tigon knew that life would spring back, the moment the Rains ended. Life would go on—it always did, somehow.

That lifted Freak’s spirits, a little, even as he repeated his situation to himself, mentally. He was being chased by three distinct groups, two of whom might be cooperating with one another. He had exactly one group of allies, that was miles off, and separating him from them were countless rivers, rapids, beings that might alert the Banghar Clan and even the hunters themselves to his presence, as well as a practically total lack of prey.

Things weren’t looking good, but the li-tigon refused to be depressed. He wasn’t working for his own good—if he was, he’d just have run far away, perhaps to the north, to Asal’s homeland at the Feet of the Himalayas and hole up there… for the rest of his life.

But he had countless beings in the Land of the Spirits to worry about, not to mention the cub in his jaws. He couldn’t run away.

The li-tigon sighed. Things were never easy or simple… not for someone with a large circle.

Of the few comforts to Freak, though, was the kitten he was carrying. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but perhaps it had something to do with her gender, or age.

“After all, the Dark One did say that there’s something about females that is… incredibly soft. I don’t know if he was being literal, or metaphorical, or both; but either way, I agree. The time I’ve spent among others is also time I’ve spent around females.”

“She’s a cub, too. I remember—Uvuli and I used to be great friends… or, at least, as good of friends as I can be with anyone. This little one is younger than Uvuli is now, though… Uvuli, by now, won’t just be a cub anymore, will she?... no, she won’t. She’s too young to be an adult, though. She’ll be a juvenile, when I see her again… if I see her again…”

“I wonder how she’s changed. I wonder how she’s grown. I can’t wait to see her.”

Freak had been thinking to himself to prevent from growing cold and paranoid; jumping at every random sound or sight or smell. He was still paying very, very close attention to his surroundings—he’d been ambushed by hunters twice, now, but he’d learned his lesson. Several times, he came across large, treeless plains, flooded with water. When he did, he either circled around them, or threw the kitten on his back and either sneaked his way through them, or just swam through them as quickly as possible. So far, he’d been lucky enough to not come under fire.

Rather quickly, it started to rain again. Freak was a little tired, by then, from the day of hard hiking and swimming, and took refuge, at least for a few minutes, under a group of trees with large, broad, thick leaves—a practical tent.

The sky and the earth alike were dark, again; black storm clouds totally blotting out what sunlight had originally been offered to Hindustan. Under that canopy, Freak felt protected, cozy, even and sat down, gingerly placing the kitten in front of him.

The Season of the Rains really was something. Gallons of water spilled down from the leaves that protected Freak every second, creating a sheer, thin waterfall around him that didn’t decrease in intensity or volume for even a second. The blurred, washed view of Hindustan Freak had was ominous, but enticed what slight, vague affinity for adventure the li-tigon had—a lifetime of combat and hardship had almost crushed the desire for unnecessary conflict from him totally.

Lightning strobed on and off, without warning, blasting the environment with bright, white light. Freak felt grateful that he’d been able to find such a rare, protected little abode—things wouldn’t clear up even a little until the next morning, at least. And who knew—maybe this little oasis would attract prey seeking shelter from the rain as well.

All in all, things seemed to have culminated to create a situation that just screamed at Freak to relax, stop worrying, and sleep.

Still, though, the li-tigon was reluctant.

He was still new to Hindustan, and, for all he knew, he could be in the middle of a Banghar Clan outpost. Even if he wasn’t, the mongooses were certain to check the shelter, eventually, or use it in their search for Freak.

Still, staying put and resting beat his alternatives in both desirability and actual utility. If Freak left now, he’d just exhaust himself, and soak himself and the kitten to the bone, making them walking condominiums for who knew what kinds of sicknesses.

Sighing, Freak began to lick his paws—they weren’t particularly dirty, as any grime that had collected on them was summarily rinsed off by the same environment that created it. Still—it was relaxing, and allowed the li-tigon a few seconds to just calm, breathe deeper, and even meditate, a little.

Eventually, he began to lick the kitten clean, too. She really was something—she hadn’t fidgeted or stirred once, the entire day. She’d just quietly allowed Freak to carry her, never waking from her unconsciousness at all.

“What a tough little cub.”

Freak found that he was just a little envious of her parents, whoever they were, if they were even still alive. From her sporadic whines, he’d surmised that she had had, at least at one point, a father.

“She really is lucky. I never met my father in life, ever. …I wonder if it’s better to have a terrible, abusive father, but a father nonetheless, than no father at all.”

“I suppose I’ll never know.”

After a thorough checking-over to make sure that the young tigress was free of injuries, Freak set her down again. Instantly, she curled up, sighing through her nose… smiling a little, even.

Freak blinked. He didn’t know what to do in such a situation, really… but his instincts rarely failed him. So, instead of sitting down near her, the li-tigon rested directly next to her. Of her own accord, the small female nuzzled his side, causing Freak to twitch uncomfortably for a moment, and let out a very soft purr.

“I wonder what it’s like to be a father,” Freak thought, as he set his paws one atop the other, before resting his chin on them and allowing his eyes to fall shut. As much needed sleep took over, the li-tigon had another thought.

“I wonder if I’ll ever find out.”

(Some language below.)

Dawn.

Cloud cover had parted, a little, into long, thin strips of moisture that slashed across the sky like the telltale parallel claw marks of a feline attack. Humidity was dense in the air, and (get this) it was hot, too, in Hindustan, so that the sun’s red-orange rays were dissipated in the resulting mist. The giant, peach-colored circle rose, slowly, but to someone watching from the earth, its ascent was not uniform: refraction and the clouds made one dappled slice roll up into view at a time.

It was quite a sunrise for a few reasons: firstly, in the Season of the Rains, it was rare to see the sun without your gaze being hindered by practical swimming pools of water. Secondly, pollution resulting from the not-so-far city was gone, totally gone, due to the Rains themselves.

Finally, it was a blood dawn—or it would be, if the Banghar Clan had its way.

Not all of the mongooses that formed the commune were there, of course: the Clan had split up to cover as much ground as possible. Even during the Season of the Rains, patrols had to be sent out so that the security of the Triangle of Pain was maintained. And now, with such a rare, bizarre-looking cat at large, a cat the Banghar Clan had tried and failed to kill, a cat whose nature confused them, they were at the highest level of readiness. Every waking moment, they were out and about, scouring Hindustan for Freak.

And now, perhaps fifty of them were converging on him, quickly—but noiselessly.

The li-tigon, in fact, was quietly, cozily snoozing. He was worn out from the escapades of the past few days. Laying on his side, with an unidentified tigress kitten against his chest, he was a fruit ripe for the picking.

Seething, claws and teeth bared, the mongooses moved to surround the cats. Making and breaking eye contact, using the smallest, most subtle of paw-signals, they prepared an assault that would sever Freak’s jugular before he could react, killing him instantly. The kitten would follow that fate shortly, as well.

One mongoose had been sent off to warn the rest of the Clan, to call them to the position of the killing if, somehow, Freak managed to escape. Flying through the Hindustani jungle, its purpose was as singular and solid as the purpose of those it had left behind.

They weren’t far from Freak at all, now, starting to move out of cover. Crawling, tiptoeing, they sneaked closer, closer, and closer to the li-tigon yet.

In the end, it might have been the crack of an unseen twig, or the beat of a pulsating, anticipatory heart, or sheer dumb luck that woke Freak up.

Regardless of what it was, you’ve got to feel a little sympathy for the li-tigon. He hadn’t exactly had things easy recently, or ever, for that matter. But seriously—imagine how much a nice, peaceful, sorely-needed sleep ended with the sight of a dozen drooling, approaching mongooses, hungry for your blood would suck.

If you can’t imagine, then… try a lot. A whole lot.

“Oh, sh—“

No time to think. Time to move.

The mongooses saw Freak wake up, and threw caution and stealth to the wind in the time it took for the li-tigon’s tired eyes to open fully. Screaming, calling for the blessings of their strange, terrible Gods, their small but viciously sharp claws tore the wet, soggy ground between them and Freak apart.

Freak knew better than to roar or threaten or negotiate: these beings were communistic robots. All the li-tigon could do was fight, or get the Hell outta Dodge.

He had the knowledge of his ancestors on his side, though. Sure, he could take fifty mongooses, no sweat. The problem was, though, that they were sure to have sent a runner out to notify the rest of the Clan, and Freak had no idea how far or near they were. No, he couldn’t afford to get tangled up in a complicated, lengthy battle.

He had to leave.

And he wasn’t the only one that had to leave.

Now, you might think that since the Lion Sheikh has taken the time to explain the intricacies of the li-tigon’s position as he himself viewed it, that he was either a deer in the headlights about to be torn the fuck apart… or that he was actually being torn the fuck apart. This is not true: the li-tigon can multitask as well as any of us. Well—Freak doesn’t text while driving... I think... But that’s beside the point.

He was a blur of motion—first, he countered the wave of flesh that was launched at him by getting up and whipping the rear section of his body around, in a move reminiscent of a kung-fu windmill. This motion caused a great deal of centripetal force that dissipated against the mongooses’ bodies, knocking them aside and away. What energy remained was converted to linear velocity, as Freak’s paws hit the ground.

His mind hadn’t consciously drifted to his silent companion since he’d woken up, but it didn’t need to. The action of catching the scruff of her neck in his teeth as he prepared to exfiltrate was as natural as breathing.

Confidence and hope are everything, and Freak had both. Previously, despite severe physical and mental trauma, he’d outrun the entire Banghar Clan—now, armed with a supply of energy and the knowledge of how to deal with Hindustan’s harsh but endearing wilderness, he would again be successful.

Picking through trees and thickets large enough to admit him, but small enough to delay the mongooses, Freak sprinted for a full mile, or so. After that, the li-tigon was panting, just a little, but turned, sniffing, and forced himself to hold his breath and listen. Eyes flicking over every thorned, knotted tree, and every mound of dirt, rock and debris that remained unmoved by the Rains, he eventually exhaled in relief, and calmed. He’d left the Clan in the dust.

But Freak couldn’t rest on his laurels, and he knew it. At best, he had a few minutes on the mongooses—there! The sound of chillingly close interrogation and violence. No, they weren’t far at all. So, to keep his lead, Freak would have to keep moving, and keep moving fast.

On the plus side, though, the li-tigon found that he’d made better time than he’d anticipated. He could find Salim by nightfall without difficulty, if things continued the way they were.

Fate, though, would have otherwise.

Freak was weaving in and out of a grove of mango trees, fur blending into their trunks, when his ear twitched…

The Clan was gathering, en masse.

He didn’t have a use for a free second, or an ounce of optimism. Because even if Freak ran fast and hard, the sheer number of mongooses made it very, very likely that his trail, somehow, would be picked up. He’d evaded them all once, but the li-tigon knew better than to think that the communistic mongooses were stupid—they, too, would have learned from their last encounter. Freak couldn’t rely on the possibility of just vanishing, slipping out of the practical net the mongooses were no doubt enclosing around him—he wouldn’t have trusted his ability to do that even in the Land of the Spirits. And he was still a foreigner to Hindustan—still under the place in the food chain held by its true apex predators: mongooses.

What the li-tigon could do, though, was allow the Clan to catch a glimpse of him, or the taste of his scent in a manner that suggested a certain position and direction… then make a stealthy beeline for some other destination. The strategy was sound, but its implementation would be hard. Freak had benefited from sleep, greatly, but he needed energy—he needed food. He hadn’t totally recovered from his self-imposed bout of starvation, or the growth spurt, not totally… but he had no choice.

“I know what my best option is. There’s no point in battling myself or whining about it; no one’s listening. I have no choice.”

Freak often took just a few seconds to really wake up, to again become aware of how to fully use his senses. As a near-overload of information and sensation entered the li-tigon’s mind, he sharply peered in one direction, then the other.

He knew where he was; that was good. He also knew where Salim’s home was; that was better. Now, to pick a trail on which to plant his wild goose chase—there were plenty of possibilities, but Freak didn’t have much time.

Sniffing in a number of directions as rapidly as possible, bouncing on his paws to both warm them up and hem the waves of adrenaline bursting into his system, Freak considered…

Then, even as he held the kitten, the li-tigon smiled a smile he hadn’t, before. It was small, and brief, but the confident, amused smirk that crossed the li-tigon’s face was unmistakable. He had something nasty in mind.

Creating as obvious a trail as possible, brushing up against trees and plants alike, the li-tigon timed himself, carefully. The Clan wasn’t far away, at all, and he wanted to give himself a few seconds for a margin of error—just in case.

“They deserve this. And… bah. No point in rationalizing. I need to laugh, and I don’t mind that it’s at their expense.” With the final tracks made, and scents laid, Freak sprinted as fast as he possibly could without leaving impressions more than a centimeter or so deep into the terrain. There was mud, and lots of it, but the li-tigon had trodden on grasses and plants—and so, managed to exfiltrate without contest.

Freak was a few hundred yards away when the mongooses hit the point of no return. Their destination… wasn’t far.

“My only regret is that I won’t be able to see their faces, when they reach it…”

“Smell that wretched, rotting stink? See those careless, lazy tracks?”

The Banghar Clan needed its doses of propaganda, even during the heated pursuit.

They were, originally, spread out in a wide arc. The rationale was that such a formation was the happy median between the ability to cover as much ground as possible, and the ability to converge on their prey as quickly as possible, when it was found.

Instantly, though, things changed—the Clan condensed, forming itself into a long, rectangular spear that barreled through the jungle in a massive, brownish blur.

Thunder roared out, suddenly, but not a mongoose batted an eye. The warning of the Rains could have been a false alarm, and even if it was legitimate, they had a few minutes before Hindustan was, again, soaked. Blasting through waterlogged plants and thickets, they had even more motivation, now, to find Freak as soon as possible—when the Rains came, they’d have to downsize their operations… or call them off entirely. Whereas the accursed li-tigon would never, ever stop running.

Irritatingly, though, the trail, validated by the presence of both visual and odorous clues, died without a trace. Though mortified and stiffened, the Clan didn’t speak—they just grew cold and angry; this had to be the path Freak had taken, there was no chance that he’d somehow given their giant, organic net a slip…

Mudslides, pounded into the land by seemingly endless rains, pretermitted the Clan easily. Rather than slowing, or stopping, or scattering in case Freak had misled them, the Banghars remained resolute in their stupidity—I mean, strategy.

Eventually, though, the mongooses started to notice a few things.

One was that they were being admitted along the slick, wet floor just a little too easily. Another was that when they tried to get footing, they couldn’t, and just slipped, coating their brown coats with mud.

The other was that the ground’s concentration of… how shall I say this… animal waste matter… was slowly but surely increasing.

Indeed, they’d funneled themselves into a long, wide chute from which there was no escape. The Clan’s destination was as certain as it was disgusting.

Hindustani animals, you see, had a strong sense of cleanliness. Even before mongooses emerged as their governing body, generations ago, they had an unspoken code of conduct—certain types of business, so to speak, could only be done in certain areas: public restrooms, if you will.

These areas weren’t static, of course; overusing one might have terrible, terrible ecological ramifications. What the animals would do was converge, dig a large, wide hole, create paths for their… y’know… to get to it… and then, after a few weeks or months, cover it up and create another one.

The Banghar Clan had its own sanitation system—it was located to the south of the Triangle of Pain; where men dumped their trash, mongooses also… dumped… theirs…

Without getting too graphic, the Lion Sheikh will attempt to describe what happened next.

There was, perhaps, ten feet of… gunk… in the… septic… pit. The Season of the Rains had bloated it, liquefying the… pit’s... contents… making them wet, and sloshy; almost water-like in consistency.

There wasn’t that much risk of physical injury for the Banghars. Mongooses weren’t bad swimmers (though, to be fair, they’d never really tried swimming in such… a, ahem, solution, before), and could break a fall into water without much difficulty.

Karma, it seems, though, really is a bitch.

The slide they were falling down was now almost entirely not mud. And even the highly disciplined Banghars were starting to show signs of unease, and selfishness. Even the loudmouths that blasted Hindustan and their comrades with propaganda almost 24/7 had shut up, as they, like all other mongooses, climbed over one another, trying to find an escape.

But there was no escaping this fate, it seemed.

I suppose I could explain to you how Hindustani diets affected the exact “ingredients” and consistency (and stench) of the practical stew that the Banghars were flying towards, now screaming and yelling in dismay, but I’ll spare you the details… save for just one: carrots. Lots of carrots. Lots and lots of half-digested, molding, maggot-infested, rotting carrots.

Incomprehensibility ruled the mongooses, now, as they desperately clung to one another, in an attempt to decrease the, shall we say, impact, on any given individual.

Regardless, as the “slide” broke off into a tall, long-lasting drop, one lone voice rose above the others, echoing throughout Hindustan:

“I can’t believe I joined the Banghar Clan for this shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit…”

“…That was a loud splat.”

“Yuck.”

Freak’s expression was of grim satisfaction; any amusement he felt on the inside was well hidden on the outside.

Yeah, he was a badass.

The diversion would tack on precious time to the lead the li-tigon had over his pursuers (at least, his nonhuman, non-feline pursuers), but he knew better than to overuse any advantage, perceived or real. He had to keep moving, and he had to remember that two other groups were actively attempting to hunt him down and wipe his story from the pages of time.

He hadn’t put the kitten down in hours, and was starting to get cramped from the cold and the exertion of such a hard run.

Blinking, a few times, Freak peered across the terrain for a moment.

Hindustan was as constant as ever: forests, plains, some bodies of water, all mixed together to form a random concoction of almost exactly three components. Hills and other structures were oddities, rare bursts of flavor in an overwhelmingly bland meal.

Freak sighed. He had to keep his spirits up, and constantly looking over the suddenly boring, unattractive landscape… wasn’t doing him any good.

The li-tigon forced himself, though, to hold his gaze, for a moment, until he grudgingly accept that, after all, Hindustan wasn’t that bad.

Then, he flopped over.

The tree that the li-tigon had selected as his abode was short, but wide. It had thin leaves, but lots of them—rain would penetrate, but not much.

Reflecting on his situation, Freak again found himself licking up the kitten that, sadly, was still unconscious and whimpering. It was somehow fucking freezing in Hindustan; this wasn’t right! The Season of the Rains was supposed to be hot and humid. Yet, every time the li-tigon touched water, it sapped at his energy. The weather, it seemed, had either hit a paradigm shift, or was conspiring against him; rendering itself just as much of a threat as the Banghar Clan itself.

“Everyone is a threat,” Freak thought vaguely. He knew, of course, that that wasn’t true; the Dark One’s efforts hadn’t been futile. Still—the occasional generalization was satisfying, in that it simplified things to a point that the li-tigon no longer felt overwhelmed when he faced them.

He was hungry and he was cold and he was tired. The Banghar Clan was out of the picture, for a very short moment, but human hunters and that tiger were still somewhere out there, hungry for his blood. He had a cub to care for; a cub that was unconscious, and in worse condition than he.

“Spirits… you’re too skinny, little one. You’re a not a juvenile yet, why are you starving yourself?”

‘Cha. Even feline females, when they hit a certain age, thought that a lack of physical mass was the be-all and end-all of existence and attractiveness.

The kitten’s skinniness, though, had a more plausible explanation. Her whimpers and sleep-talk suggested not only hunger, but abuse.

“Your parents, your father… they haven’t denied you food, have they?” Freak asked quietly. The li-tigon wasn’t really a strong believe in gender-roles, as he’d never see their utility, real or imagined. Sure, in the Pride Lands, the lionesses had (generally) done the hunting, but he never, ever saw any abhorrence of hunting on the part of Mufasa or Kovu.

So, he was, perhaps, just a little guilty of cultural misunderstanding and intolerance.

Maybe he realized it, maybe he didn’t. Freak’s thoughts were as unreadable as the somber, harsh, accepting expression plastered semi-permanently over his face. Eyes as cold and hard as the polymer-steel body of a pistol, he sat, for a moment, perfectly still.

When he moved, it was in an unexpected and slightly unwonted manner: Freak wrapped one of his large paws around the tigress’s body, and pulled her in close. She was resting against his cheek, as the li-tigon set his head down for a brief rest, just a short catnap—he couldn’t spare much time.

“This isn’t good, at all…” he thought, leaving his eyes open to watch as, again, rain began to crash down, trails of water picking their ways through the tree above him, “I’ve delayed the Banghar Clan for some time, but I know now how determined they are to kill me. The humans… want to kill me, too, and their quarrel is probably personal—they’ve seen me twice, but I still live.”

“And that tiger…”

Things weren’t good, at all. Freak had no guidance, and no idea of how to achieve a mission vital to the survival of hundreds.

“Bah. But, I suppose I should count my blessings. Things can’t possibly get—“ a rush of premonition, “worse…”

Freak knew, now, to trust this particularly poignant, powerful instinct. He also knew that he had no time, just then, to grab the kitten in his teeth—he needed to go.

Scooping her up in his paw, the li-tigon tossed her into the air. He didn’t like it, didn’t enjoy it, and even felt real distress when he saw that small, frail body turn, slowly, in midair, before he jumped and cleanly caught her, rolling to his feet a second later.

Then, the tree behind him was smashed with enough power to reduce most of its trunk to splinters.

“Curses! I hoped they wouldn’t find me so soon…” Freak was moving fast, again, away from the origin of the shots. Oh, he knew who it was; the wind shifted, giving him a too-late scent that matched with that of the man he’d seen earlier to a T.

At least, now, the li-tigon would certainly reach the gharials by nightfall.

He couldn’t dare stop running for at least ten minutes, flitting between this tree and that hill, this pool of water and that depression. The grayish, soaked plants and grasses of Hindustan didn’t help the li-tigon’s mood, so, when ten minutes had passed, he found that he had no desire to stop running.

Carrying the tigress kitten in his teeth, dutifully, Freak ignored… everything. Or, at least, everything that he could afford to.

Prey? He passed it without its knowledge, and without a second glance. Potential shelters, or at least places to reconstitute inner tranquility and wits? Brushed off.

Even the slightest sign of human or mongoose or feline presence, though, was treated with caution that bordered on irrational paranoia.

Freak didn’t stop running until the sweat that ran down his somehow still powerful, still noble fur was flowing as fast as the rain that washed it away.

Panting, quietly, Freak dared set the kitten down for a moment, to hop up into a tree and have a look around. This higher-altitude area… it was familiar, very familiar. That’s because the gharials weren’t a mile away, and it gave the li-tigon’s heart some hope when he realized that he would fulfill a promise he hadn’t spoken.

“I will see Amira, Jahanara, and Tahir again. They’ll be so surprised, and happy… and when this little one wakes up, they’ll have a new playmate—forever, or, at least, until someone fit to be her parent comes to claim her.”

The Rains, now, weren’t pulsating and pounding and rough. They were a constant sort of drizzle, and, due to the suddenly hot environment (for which Freak was grateful), evaporated almost on contact. The result was a thick, steamy mist that blotted out the sun, the sky, and much of the depressing view of Hindustan. It also offered good cover from the hunters—now, Freak could actually walk from point A to point B without an undue amount of fear.

Anticipation growing as his surroundings became more familiar still, he smoothly disembarked from the tree, and again appropriated the smaller feline. The li-tigon moved on, then, padding along quickly but fearlessly, to the lake that was the home of what had to be the most charitable family in all of Hindustan.

Was, as in, used to be.

“I wonder who could have done this. I wonder who could possibly be so cruel…”

The kitten was at the base of a stout, wide tree where Freak could easily see her. Yet, if she somehow awoke, just then, her view of things would be limited—that was a good thing.

Massacres, you see, generally aren’t held to be appropriate viewing for small cubs.

Nothing was left living, in that tragic graveyard. The place reeked of death in a manner that no one that shared anything but a deeply intimate relationship with death could ever hope to understand.

Killing is a thing that is, sadly, sometimes necessary. After all—war, predation, self-defense, just execution and even assassination; these things sometimes have to occur.

But what made these killings real tragedies was the manner in which the gharials had been annihilated.

Their homes were destroyed, the neat enclosures and structures ravaged beyond repair. Dams that carefully regulated the flow of water in and out of the lake were broken, so that it would never again be in that carefully measured sweet spot between famine and flooding—it would always be at one extreme, or the other. At that point in time, there was only a few inches of water in it, despite the Season of the Rains.

There were flies around, lots of them. The air was so thick that Freak could hardly walk two feet without being swarmed, but there was no use in waving one of his large paws to get them to leave—there was simply too much food around for them to do so.

Who did this, and why they did it, though… these were questions that could easily be answered, after some reflection.

“The Banghar Clan did this. No one else has the power to, and they did it to send a message. Somehow, they found out that the gharials helped me, or something… and they reacted.”

Many of the gharials were eaten, partially—the Banghar Clan had taken the best, most perishable of their meat (such as eyes, livers, and hearts) and consumed it on the spot and cut away much of the rest to store for the Season of the Rains.

There was evidence to suggest that some had been eaten alive.

Tahir, for instance, had been skewered to a tree, tied to it with a series of thin, strong vines. Face set, forever, in a grimace of the utmost of agony, his entrails had been pulled out with a stick and hung, rotting, out of his belly. Neat round holes had been chewed through his leather-like skin—easy entrance paths for infection, bacteria, and a particularly slow, painful death… made that much more bitter by what the young gharial must have had to watch going on all around him in his final moments.

Jahanara had a single, long cut across her back, almost surgical in nature. After that, though, her skin had been pulled half-off, effectively butterflying the young gharial, exposing her flesh for untold legions of insects to gorge themselves on.

Salim was nowhere to be seen. But that was alright—Freak wasn’t sure that he would have liked to see his old friend, not in the state he was sure to be in.

Needless to say, blood and worse was everywhere. What little water remained in the lake was a gruesome shade of mauve—it would become a haven for mosquitoes and vermin of all kinds, and the stench about it wouldn’t disappear for weeks. And even then… this part of the world, this little patch of Hindustan… now, it was tainted forever with the blood of the young, the old, the weak—vitally, the blood of the innocent. Freak wasn’t a strong believer in what many of us think of as ghosts… but if haunted places in the world existed, this would no doubt become one of them.

“What now? Salim was my last option. How am I going to find Asal’s friend? And who’s going to take care of her—”

Freak was a stealthy being, he really was. He’d outwitted a python responsible for the deaths of dozens as well as practically locking down a significant chunk of the Jungle before his first year passed by hiding from it. He’d slipped away from dozens of foes before, and had almost single-handedly destroyed an alliance that threatened to tear his mother’s homeland apart on a black operation.

He was not, however, in a class of his own. Vitani had been stealthy. Sarafina was stealthy as well, albeit in a different manner. There were also Hindustani animals that were stealthy.

Such as Banghar mongooses.

He turned just in time, and the sight he saw tore his heart apart.

There were perhaps a half-dozen of the diminutive but murderous creatures. Needle-like teeth bared in twisted, menacing grins, on their retreating backs was the tigress cub…

“NO!” Freak roared—perhaps a little foolishly; it did give his position away.

The mongooses didn’t have a chance, though, to just drop the kitten and run. Freak was on them before they could even react.

A vicious paw strike knocked one into a tree. Its skull cracked, so that bits of bone and brain and blood painted the trunk a dark, purplish maroon. The soaked ground had plenty of give to it, and Freak was able to use that to his advantage—he slid, tackling the rest of the mongooses as he caught the kitten in his teeth.

It was then that the li-tigon realized the folly of his actions. Getting to his feet, outrage was replaced, instantly, by cold, gripping fear.

“No...”

In desperation, Freak put the kitten down, and chased after the fleeing mongooses. There were only a few of him, and if he’d been smart, he could have taken them all out—possibly. But they’d scattered, so that the li-tigon could only pursue one at a time.

Within seconds, Freak gave up—he turned around, and sprinted back the way he’d come. Momentarily pausing to pick the tigress cub up, he ran on, knowing that the Banghars he’d just encountered were now on their way to tell the rest of their Clan.

They’d be swarming all over the area within the hour.

So, if Freak wanted to live, he had to leave the area.

Hissing in anger at himself for being so short-sighted, he now started the tricky, largely unsuccessful effort of masking his trail. But the muddy ground and the tendency of mud to preserve tracks meant that he was best off getting to a valley, finding a lake or river of some sort, and swimming.

“That won’t be too hard,” Freak thought grimly, zigzagging his way down a hillside: the Rains had started again.

“A thousand curses. I’m hungry…”

“But I have to prioritize. More important than my hunger is that murderer. He may be a little bigger and stronger than me, but I’m the best fighter in this land… now, without contest…”

After all… Asal was dead.

“He’s a foreigner, too. Well… he’ll never see his homeland again, because I’m going to kill him. For my wife, and my daughter… and for me. He won’t live much longer, now…”

“And, after I kill him, I’ll go after Kochai. I know that she’s here, somewhere… she’ll be alright for a few days yet without food. When I come to her, though… it’ll be with food, and apology. I’ll repent for what I did to her, earlier…”

Complicating Nasher’s tracking was the fact that he had to evade the Banghar Clan—they were in the area, but the tiger knew how to avoid their detection in a manner that the Dark One could never show Freak… the liger was blind.

Nasher was moving quickly, face twisted into a snarl that was so dark it seemed that it would never lighten. His coat offered plenty of camouflage, and moving quickly and quietly was a skill he’d learned—he’d had to learn—in cubhood. Leaves rustled only slightly as he brushed by them, always approaching his goal.

Panting, a little, the tiger paused, sniffing—good. He was on the right track.

Storm clouds were rolling in, again, and Nasher knew that they’d slow him down, some… but they’d also slow down that killer.

Thunder roared out… and, suddenly, Nasher’s eyes widened. Skidding to a halt, his angry expression fell, giving way to a look of utter shock and horror.

“No…”

“Kochai!”

The kitten’s scent had appeared, but this hadn’t inspired hope or confusion in her father. That’s because it had appeared… directly on top of the one he was tracking.

His daughter had been taken hostage, it seemed. What other conclusion was there? What else would her mother’s murderer want with such an innocent, defenseless kitten?

“So… you don’t have any sense of honor at all, you son of a dog. That’s alright—I’ll match your lack of scruples with a lack of mercy.”

“…ABOMINATION!”

Nasher had been controlling his anger, for a few seconds; but then, that black, churning, lava-like emotion had overfilled. Now, it was pouring out, evident in the tiger’s body language, and the startling addition of speed to his motions.

Tearing off through Hindustan faster than ever, now, he felt a grim sense of pride, despite his desperation.

He’d found a good scent trail. And now, he was going to follow it to its source…

And make it bleed.

“I think I’ve been running long enough.”

That, or he was just making an excuse for taking a break—not that he needed one. The li-tigon was exhausted from hours of running in impossible conditions, without a bite of food or a second of rest.

Freak was panting, breath shallow and ragged, as he slowly halted. The Banghar Clan hadn’t found him, and signs were good—they seemed to have been thrown off by his tendency to take long, roundabout, looping, backtracking routes, often through water.

As far as the human hunters went, they’d probably be deterred by the weather. Sunset was soon, but it was already almost pitch black, and raining, hard. This part of Hindustan was heavy on plains, light on trees; so, there was nothing to break the wind apart or stop it from growing powerful and hard. Even the powerful, large li-tigon had a hard time keeping his footing and plodding on, lowering his head to break the wind as much as he could, all the time holding the kitten tightly so she wouldn’t be blown away from him.

The wind and rain were, together, blasting Freak’s fur so that it stuck out behind him in spikes, giving him a somewhat ridiculous appearance. The li-tigon’s ears were flattened to protect this hearing from the howls of the atmosphere and the clashes of thunder that were echoing across the land. Eyes opened no more than a millimeter or two, he peered around, desperately, searching for cover.

There were no mountains in Hindustan, or at least the part of Hindustan that Freak was familiar with. Sometimes, though, there were rocky hills… so there was a possibility of taking shelter next to one, or inside a cave or outcropping of some sort.

“Finally…” Freak thought, closing his eyes again as he turned, a little, planting his feet for a second to accept the brunt of a massive torrent of water, “There…”

About a thousand yards off, there was a hill. It was nestled against the treeline of a much thicker forest, in comparison to the grassy terrain Freak was cutting through, only occasionally having to avoid trees or foliage.

Freak’s mile was fast—much less than three, maybe even two minutes. But that was on level ground, in good or normal conditions. Now, he was traveling over a rugged, rough terrain, directly against storm wind and rain more intense than he had ever experienced before.

It took him fifteen minutes, at least, to travel those thousand yards.

Luckily, though, there was an outcropping in the rugged, harsh hillside. It wasn’t much more than a rocky arch that straddled a fifteen or twenty foot deep depression that would, if nothing else, offer some protection from the wind and rain and cold. Exhausted, Freak crawled in, set the kitten down, and collapsed.

A few hours later, the li-tigon woke up to conditions similar to the ones he’d fallen asleep to. It was quite dark outside, and still very windy. There was a little less rain, but it was still chilly—the outcropping hadn’t held in the body heat of the two felines inside it well, at all.

Still, Freak couldn’t complain. He no longer felt tired, and, as he stood, stretching a little, felt thankful for this new, thicker coat—he was quite cozy in it.

Wait, the kitten—where was she? Freak looked around, but didn’t spot her light form against the sea of dark rocks.

“No… she couldn’t have been stolen from right under my nose! No—“

Freak was right… she couldn’t have been stolen from right under his nose. That’s because she’d never left it.

In her sleep, the tigress had apparently crawled up from where Freak had set her down, at his side, and curled up in the warm, protected cavity near his forepaws and chin. She was on her side, in an awkward-looking but apparently comfortable position—on her face was a smile, and she wasn’t whining or whimpering anymore. Though, she did attempt to latch onto Freak’s forearm and pull him down, wanting that soft source of heat again.

The li-tigon couldn’t help but smile. So far, this kitten had been nothing but trouble for him… but she sure was endearing, and cute. She was definitely growing on him, despite the fact that he hadn’t yet spoken a word to her.

But she’d had plenty of time to rest, now. So maybe he’d be able to get her up, at least for a few minutes, and try to figure a few things out… like, who her parents were, where they were, and if she somehow knew about humans that were friendly to felines.

Yeah. Right.

Still, there might be much to learn from the kitten. It was, at least, worth a try.

Freak shook himself off, once, as he considered how to do this. Looking down, blankly, he realized that she was tugging insistently at his paw, silently complaining that she was cold, and wanted to be warm.

Maybe the li-tigon could have woken her up by totally leaving her to the elements for a moment or two, but that wasn’t his style. No, he’d learned mercy and compassion from the Dark One. Maybe it was time to implement one of the things he’d learned.

The li-tigon lowered himself, closing his eyes. Instantly, he felt the tigress cub purring, snuggling into the warm against his face, and took in a deep breath.

He didn’t let it out, immediately, as he concentrated hard.

Attempting to probe the kitten’s mind, he was, for a time, unsuccessful. But, every now and then, the li-tigon felt her presence, shy and fearful but begging for protection, just under a thin veil of unconsciousness.

It took patience and a lot of effort, in the form of gentle, repeating coaxing… but, eventually, as he opened his eyes, Freak saw that he was successful.

She wasn’t smiling anymore, of course. And she no longer seemed to feel protected and warm near Freak; instead, she’d moved as far away from him as the outcropping would allow and sat, shivering, wet eyes focused on the ground.

Freak’s expression was unreadable, blank. He said nothing, but his lips twitched, once or twice, like the cuffed tip of his tail.

Then, he left.

He had said nothing to the kitten, and, to be fair, it was doubtful that she even realized his departure. The wind and rain howled on, and, only eventually when she looked up did the tigress cub realize that she was alone. Her eyes widened at that and she mewled sadly, sniffling… it really did seem that no one loved her. She turned away from the outcropping’s opening, eyes wet, and started to cry.

“What’s wrong, little one?” said a voice, from the outcropping’s entrance. Though the speaker seemed to be trying to sound kind and generous, there was a sort of savage brutality in his voice. The kitten jumped, and, wiping her eyes with a paw desperately to see, looked up, preparing to flee—she was in no condition to fight.

But then, the blackened silhouette’s scent reached her nose. Twitching once, then twice, as the kitten blinked, forgetting her fear to a degree, standing up, she realized that this was the one that had been carrying her so dutifully, for so long—protecting her from who knew what sort of hazards.

But he was still scary.

“He’s bigger than Father, a lot bigger,” the kitten thought, backing away unconsciously, as the figure entered the outcropping, now only feet from her.

He stopped, for a moment, and shook himself off. She realized that he’d been nudging something along with his paw, since he’d entered the dry little abode, but didn’t dare look at it. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the light, so, as he made that one, final step towards her… she saw him.

He certainly was larger than her father—by a great margin, in fact. The kitten found that a lot of things about him… didn’t make sense, really. She had, of course, grown up around tigers. But she’d come into contact with lions, too, and the being in front of her... somehow, he didn’t look like a direct blend of lion and tiger. He looked like something else—maybe something more.

Black stripes, orangeish fur that formed a thick, protective coat, gunmetal eyes, a fawn at his feet…

The scent of blood reached her nose, and she gasped, instantly salivating. The kitten looked up at him, pleadingly, but he was already smiling, and nodding, nudging the kill towards her.

“She’s just hungry, poor thing,” Freak thought as, after a second of reluctance, the tigress cub pounced on the hearty meal. Digging into the sweet, soft venison, the li-tigon couldn’t be entirely sure that she was purring—the wind and rain and thunder were all still deafeningly loud, pouring into the shallow cave from the darkened exterior.

Freak shared the meal, though it wasn’t a feast for him, of course. Still, it quieted the pangs of hunger in his gut, and it would prolong life for at least another few days—it would do. Courteously, licking his snout and paws clean, the li-tigon waited for the kitten to finish eating, before focusing the sharp, dark orbs of his eyes on hers.

The kitten shied away from him, again, but didn’t press herself against the wall, this time. She licked her snout a few times, shivering, a little. Resisting the instinct to go over and hold her until she was warm, Freak spoke in a gentle, soft, even soothing tone—for him.

“It’s alright, little one… I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

That was a good start. Her eyes flickered to his, at least for a second.

“Calm down, please. I’ve been carrying you for some time, now—I’m not complaining. …But you can see that I have no malicious intentions towards you, right?” The li-tigon flashed her a slight, natural smile; not the forced, toothy grin he used to sport.

Still, though, the kitten didn’t look at him, didn’t reply. Freak sighed, slowly, and looked at his own paws. This was going to be hard, he could tell, and the li-tigon had no idea how to probe her for information without scaring her out of her mind. This was no longer the Jungle, and he was no longer a blind, soulless creature—he couldn’t grab her, throw her against the wall, and torture the information he desired out of her.

“At least tell me your name, cub. I’ve earned the right to at least that, haven’t I?”

His voice was a little gruff, a little frustrated. And when Freak looked back at the kitten, he was no longer smiling—his expression was stern, firm; but caring, like the look Salim habitually fixed on him.

And, wouldn’t you believe it—sometimes, tough love is the right love.

“My name…” she whispered, so that, instantly, Freak looked up, ears erect, “Is… Kochai.”

She was still shivering, still refusing to look him in the eye. But she’d answered. The li-tigon wasn’t familiar with Hindustan’s ancestral tongues, really, but Salim had taught him a few words, here and there, to facilitate his understanding of the dialect modern Hindustani animals used.

“Kochai… that means nomad, or something like it. But names are meaningless…”

That didn’t ring true. Every name Freak had ever had in his life had had a meaning behind it—a deep one. Maybe this little one really was a nomad, but the li-tigon couldn’t afford to be presumptuous or insensitive.

“Kochai… that’s a nice name,” he said politely, “It’s better than mine, anyway.” “…So, tell me, Kochai,” the li-tigon asked, genuinely curious as he canted his head, leaning in a little, “You’re so young… why are you alone? Your parents… where are they?”

Maybe that was the wrong question to ask, for it made tears run down the kitten’s cheeks. Maybe it was the right question to ask—she answered.

“I… my father…” she started, before sobbing once, then swallowing, taking a deep breath, and continuing, “My father… doesn’t love me. That’s why I’m alone… and I don’t know where he is, I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off into a sad, sorry mewl. She looked away from Freak, before covering her face with her paws and shuddering, crying.

The kitten felt a large, gentle paw nudge her, and flinched, turning away. It was of no use, though, as Freak gradually made her accustomed to his touch, over the course of a moment or so. Slowly, as the storm continued to rage on outside the protective barriers of the outcropping, the li-tigon pulled Kochai’s paws from her face.

“She’s so small… so soft…”

There was no explaining it—Freak had saved the kitten, carried her, cared for her, without any thought of compensation. He’d bonded to the little cub so quickly, it seemed. Not only had he taken responsibility for a life that he’d saved, he’d already started to see himself… not as Kochai’s surrogate father, perhaps. But maybe he felt like a big brother to her.

Slowly using a digit to apply pressure to the kitten’s chin, turning her face up so that she looked him in those unflinching, unreadable eyes, Freak canted his head, and spoke, quietly, so that she had to strain to hear his voice.

“What kind of father won’t love such a beautiful cub, Kochai?... Tell me. What kind of parents wouldn’t love such a lovely, precious kitten?”

Tears still ran down her cheeks, but they were neither as pronounced nor as intense as they had been, seconds ago. There was something about this… cat, that comforted her naturally. Maybe it was the fact that he’d carried her around for so long, caring for her unconditionally; or perhaps it was something else.

“His stripes… they’re just like mine, and Father’s,” the kitten thought, sobbing softly, sporadically, even as she wiped her eyes dry with the back of a paw, “Maybe we’re relatives. Maybe he cares about me because we’re family, somehow… I’ll ask Father about his relatives, because I can’t remember their names. I’ll ask Father… if I ever see him again. If he ever wants to speak to me again…”

For his part, Freak found that he, too, was looking at Kochai with newfound interest. Her stripes… he’d seen them before—on his mother and himself, specifically, and on his grandfather too. But hadn’t he seen them one more time, somehow, on someone?

“Yes, I have… that tigress I found, when I tried to contact the Dark One. Maybe Sher Kahn had a sister… or maybe that was his mother. My great-grandmother. …Whoever it was… I still think I’ve seen those stripes on one other being, somehow… somewhere…”

Maybe, subconsciously, Freak knew. Maybe he was in denial, or maybe his meeting with Nasher had made him notice everything important about the tiger—read, not his stripes, for starters. But the li-tigon couldn’t dwell on things—Kochai was starting to explain the events that had brought her to him.

“Tigers,” she said very slowly, quietly, “aren’t meant to live together. My parents… had a disagreement,” the kitten looked away at that, sadly, “And… then, they decided that they needed to have some time apart.”

Nodding, slowly, Freak’s mind was working at lightspeed. The rain and clouds were clearing up, a little; it would be time to get moving again soon. “She’s explaining how tigers operate to me—that means she realizes I’m not of her species. Smart.”

Indeed, since his Hindustani “transformation”, post-advent, the li-tigon appeared more tigerish than he ever had before.

“My father,” Kochai continued, when she was ready, still looking away, “He… told me that he wouldn’t hunt for me. But I was hungry… I was so hungry, big brother. And I was scared… He… yelled at me. So… I ran. I got caught outside in the rain, and I can’t swim… this is my first Season of the Rains. I ran… and he chased me… I do not know what he was going to do, what he was thinking… and I don’t think I want to, either. But, fortunately, someone in Heaven was watching over me, and protected me. They struck my father with a Lance… he didn’t get up, but I don’t think he died. I think he’s still alive,” she whispered, looking outside, into the dark, dangerous terrain that was her homeland, shivering from a gust of wind, “I think he’s still alive, and I think that he’s going to hunt me down, for being a bad girl… and I think he’s going to punish me for that… and for hoping that the Lance killed him…”

The tigress started to cry again, quietly. Freak moved to her, but she stepped away, rebuking his well-intended advance.

“Kochai, Kochai, it’s all right,” the li-tigon said, attempting a gentle, soothing tone, “Everyone makes mistakes now and then… even good cubs like you… even your father…”

“No, no, no, big brother,” the younger feline sobbed, “It wasn’t a mistake, I’m not a good cub… I deserve to be beaten up. I deserve…”

What exactly Kochai thought she deserved would remain a mystery, at least at that point in time. The kitten gasped, once, shuddering… then slumped over in a heap. Fearing the worst, Freak was at her side in a flash, checking her pulse, her breathing…

“She’s alive… but she’s in a coma, again….”

The li-tigon sighed, leaning back. Thinking hard, he looked to the side, brow furrowed. Tapping his claws on the hard, cold rock floor of the shallow cavern, he pondered his next move.

The weather was relatively amiable, for the time being,. Thunder and lightning rocked the earth, but from a distance. It was still quite chilly and quite dark outside—the li-tigon realized that, in fact, it was late at night.

“It’s like time has no meaning during the Season of the Rains. The Rains are in charge—not the Sun, not the Banghar Clan, not the humans. So, if I can beat the weather, or use it to my advantage, I’m in good shape.”

Those thoughts were a little uplifting. The li-tigon was still for another moment. He felt a slight prick of worry, for some reason. Concentrating hard… he detected no cause for concern. Still, instincts told him that there was wisdom in leaving now, while he had the chance.

Shrugging, Freak lifted Kochai back up. Casually, he strolled outside, looking around. What to do now; where to go?

“Well,” the li-tigon thought dully, just to keep his mind occupied, “I’m… beating the weather. That means that I’m beating the Banghars, the human hunters, and—”

A scent entered the li-tigon’s nose. It made him freeze, then turn, sharply, sniffing hard.

Instantly, adrenaline began to creep into his system. Was there any mistaking that smell?... no, there wasn’t.

“I guess I’m not beating him, after all.”

The tiger was close—very, very close. Freak had minutes at best to escape, so he made the most of them and started to run.

How Nasher managed to track the li-tigon and his daughter through the worst hours that anyone in Hindustan could remember was a mystery. Maybe it had something to do that he was seeking not just revenge, but the safety of his only cub.

It was of no consequence to Freak, though—he still had no idea that the kitten he had in his teeth was Nasher’s daughter… as well as Asal’s. As his striped, large form flashed through trees, tearing across the Hindustani terrain, Hell-bent on escaping the tiger, Freak didn’t realize a very, very important fact.

He was entering the Triangle of Pain.

(Out of the frying pan, into the fire, eh? Next chapter will be along soon, but for now, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction… see you next chapter.)

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