The Lost Islands
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wonder how all that bravery would taste

S H E N Z I
the hyena’s belly is never full


Shenzi cannot hear from where she lurks what is said between the two males, and after a short time, the not-knowing becomes too much, and tips the scales. The seal brown mare crests the dune behind which she hid, and picked her way down its slope, her movement largely unhindered by the way the sand shifted beneath her. “Uliniweka nikingoja,” she quipped, stalking across the sand with playful energy, reaching to snap at Collision’s near shoulder, but only allows her lips to brush against his skin; to show the overo she doesn’t mean him harm – to remind herself that she is stronger than all that burns within her.

It is important to Shenzi, to know that she can temper herself in such a manner, because hers is a savage spirit, and some day, in the midst of the raging inferno she’ll become, with maw slackened and hungering for the blood of those who’ve wronged her, she might come across an innocent soul. The last thing the fierce little barb mare wanted was to lose herself to the brutality that often accompanied violence when it was driven by deep emotion and desire.

No matter what else would be said about her, Shenzi would have it known that despite all other things, she still had it in her to be gentle.

“You kept me waiting,” the seal brown mare clarifies, repeating herself in the Common tongue of the Islands. And not just for Collision’s sake, but for Maslakhat’s too. With a very slight tilt of her muzzle, her attention shifts to the golden bay Teke, her dark, heavy gaze flicking to study the noble lines of his face. Did the lilt of her tongue stir up a memory? By the humming of the dunes Shenzi believed her foreign intonation was recognised by the sands that had become sacred to her. Words that were more than words. An expression of faith (the expectation) and a promise.

A promise of loyalty. A truth that went unspoken - ‘I waited, and I would wait for many days hence, if that’s what it took to meet you here.’

Not wanting to give herself away so easily (for Maslakhat was intuitive, and he understood her so well – Shenzi so enjoyed being enigmatic, and savouring the illumination that dawned on her when Maslakhat revealed truths about a fierce survivor as he saw her through his own eyes), and eager to avail herself of Collision’s presence, now that they were reunited after so long, she turns to the painted stallion. “I am glad to see you yet live, Collision,” Shenzi says with a soft snort. “Nimefurahi moyoni mwangu.” She speaks the words with a sly quirk of her lips, and her eyes flash as she glances away – as if drawn by something on the sands or in the sea, but there is nothing of interest. The barb mare does not hasten to translate as she had previously, and instead her gaze dips. In a lesser mare – that is to say a softer being, whose heart was not forged of iron, whose teeth and mind both weren't sharpened and ready to attack and to defend – it might have been taken as shyness or bashfulness, but Shenzi was no such creature.

When she lifts her head a moment later, there is an intensity to her expression, and a tightness in the muscles of her shoulders. Her eyes glitter darkly, and she shifts her posture, examining the figure of her friend with a purpose quickly made known. “You were not hurt.” It is no question – her eyes are keen and she finds no considerable marks scarring Collision’s hide, observes no significant favouring of any limbs or strange tilt to his posture. “Kijinga --” the word is a soft snarl, and rolls from between her teeth. “What happened to you?” The brown mare burns, and bitter accusation weaves between her words like acrid smoke, but it is not meant for Collision. Uliniweka nikingoja, Shenzi repeats, ears tilting back, accentuating the way her eyes go flat and cold.

And as the sun shines down on her, warming the skin of a mare whose blood will burn hot, it is as though Shenzi finally transcends the misfortunes that have plagued her since before she washed up on the shores of the Lagoon (and every tragedy since). Shenzi is no scorned dog, and she was not built to cower. So long had she lain dormant, but soon, with Maslakhat beside her, driven by the desire to protect and defend, to have restitution for all that she had suffered and lost, the Islands would know.

The mare called Shenzi fought for what was hers.

html by dante!
original photo by Frans Van Heerden from Pexels


(hover over words for translations <3)


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