strange times

Clara snorted softly as she watched her fellow slave move around the cave. She laid on the wet moss, slightly chilled but seeing no better options. AS she watched him prance around, though, she moved to lay in the opening of the tunnel, helping to block the view if anyone chose to check on the zebras. She doubted they would, but the concern was not unwarranted.

"You need to be careful," she muttered softly, pawing the ground to create an overlapping echo as she said it. The two zebras hadn't really spoken much yet, not until she got a feel for the acoustics of the room. She didn't know how much the lion cared, and didn't want to find out the wrong way.

@2

Gravy snorted and flicked an ear at the voice near the entrance to the room. He glanced shortly at the other zebra, and for a while said nothing, continuing his bout of training, as it were, without regards to her warning.

After seeing her for the first time, his worst fears were beginning to be realized. For what reason would a second zebra made slave? The lion had some sick motive, of that he was certain, and he, for one, didn't intend to play to it for as long as possible. The sooner he could get out, the better.

Problem was...now there was the mare. He could only see this as complicating the situation. Was she truly a slave, or was she a traitor, a trap set to spring on him? Was he supposed to grow close to her and she catch him making a mistake, or was there something far more sinister going on?

She was a burden he would yet to have bear, and if he wanted to avoid that, then avoiding any meaningful conversation was the first step. He hated to turn on his own kind, but how was he supposed to konw who to trust? If she was truly a slave, then perhaps...perhaps if he escaped, he could help raise a rescue team to raid these caves.

Gravy scoffed at his own idea. What lofty goals. What an idiot, what a novice he was! The zebra tore angrily at the moss, not caring if the mare saw, or what she might think. Being pent-up in these caves, having to put up with that feline bastard, his frustration was only building. How much he wanted to kick the lion's jaw off, twist his shoulder under a well-placed hoof, and rip the sperm from his sacks so that he and no other would have to suffer him or his spawn.

Perchance he might have to settle for something of the like soon.

Gravy stopped in his tracks as the cave suddenly began to glow brighter than before. His head whipped around, staring wide-eyed at a winged horse that appeared from thin air. He took a step back as the horse lowered her horn at him, seeming to speak in warning to the very thoughts that had been riding his mind. Then she was gone, and he was left with a lion cub.

Fear and rage gripped his heart. This wasn't what he thought it was, was it?

Gravy surged forward, fully intending to stamp the cub into oblivion, but a flash of guilt, of morality, sent his hoof colliding with the moss just short of the spawn's head. The zebra grit his teeth, bit his lip so hard it bled. He whirled around and stormed away, furiously kicking the stony wall, making a racket with his hooves.

What the fuck was this? Was he in Hell? Every bad situation, when he thought it couldn't get any worse---the very same was to happen, bent him over and found him in the alps! It was like the world knew exactly what he wanted least and brought it down upon him!

Gravy leapt over to the entrance, nearly stepping on the mare should she still be there, and brayed loudly, wordlessly down the tunnel, trying to call one of those cunt lionesses to him, or even the master cock himself. Let them take care of the spawn---kill it or raise it, he didn't care---he wanted nothing to do with it.

Clara stood when Satan entered, carefully scooping up the lion cub in her teeth as she did. She stared the lion down for a few seconds when he moved to take the cub, herbivore eyes locked on carnivore, but she handed the cub over. She had no way of caring for it, after all. One ear was cocked back, following the stallion sharing the cave with her.

"The only advantage of a zebra army I can imagine to a lion pride would be food. Why would any mother bring children into that kind of existence?" She hoped the stallion behind her would have her back, but she certainly didn't expect him to. It would be foolish of him to put himself on her side.


Satan @2

Sorry, I forgot about this one! 

Gravy waited until the lion was gone before he lifted his head and looked towards the mare. Judging by her reaction, he decided she wasn't playing sides.

I don't believe it, he thought, returning to the entrance where he listened to the lion's receding footsteps. There were a few things he didn't believe at the moment, such as the utter ridiculousness of it all---that a lion would bring two zebras together solely to breed them---and least of all that the lion would let them go free.

His eyes narrowed on the mare, noting her lack of scarring. His wounds from his battle with the lion still showed, and the lion's lack of discipline with her was not lost on him.

"Why are you here?" he asked bluntly, the suspicion heavy in his voice---as was, perhaps, a hint of carelessness. Even if she had come willingly for whatever reason, what did it matter? What else did he have to lose?

He curled his lip as he told her, "It's not for meat. Does he look starving to you? No...too much effort and time for so little return." There were only two of them, and they weren't mice or rabbits. He said this in part to convince himself, but he wasn't sure whether the alternative was any better. What would it be---a life of slavery, or some other cruel turn? Zebras were not made to be raised in a cave under a lion's gaze.

With a snort, Gravy lowered his head and moved away from the entrance, edging slowly towards the mare. As much as he didn't believe it, the mere idea of freedom was tempting, the thought of being rid of these caves and lions. He couldn't think of a viable escape plan, not by himself, not even with the mare by his side. The cave was simply brimming with too many big predators. What loyalty did he have to the mare, anyways? He didn't even know her---they were merely the same species, and that was little comfort given the circumstances. Any foals were a lost cause.

Only one foal, he told himself, barely holding back the tremble in his steps. More than that is lost in a year.

As his hoof fell into the depression where the cub had been lain, the zebra's mind was briefly flooded with his last encounter with the lion. His tail pinned to his hindquarters and he stopped short of grabbing the mare, a look of grave uncertainty and desperation flashing across his face.

His father would be so ashamed that he'd gotten himself into this situation to begin with. He was a fool and a coward and, above all else, weak.