Akela was a failure. Regardless how hard he tried, regardless of the attempt he made to please Rougaru or at the very least appease his judgements, the grullo stallion could simply not find the desire in his heart to lead. Over and over, his pale haired sire reminded him of the queen his mother had been, again and again he was told the stories of her tribulations and the fierceness within which she moved when Liland awoke the beast within her. She was calculated and wise in her decisions. Zjeena never acted without thinking. Try as he might, (and believe me he did try) he simply could not muse up the desire to lord himself over a hoard of mares and foals. Bathsheba was enough for him.
Cotynga giggled as she trotted past him at a prance, her finely dished head held high and dark inky tail flagging behind her. Akela could not help but to smile, the sight lifting the weight on his soul. Where he weighed heavily the consequences of his actions, his youngest daughter paid no heed and merely savored the moment in which she lived now. She had questioned him when Akela decided to travel to the main island when Rougaru left but still she followed. He had hoped she would remain behind with Bathsheba where the jungles of Paradise might protect her, but ever the defiant creature, the smokey girl merely shook off his dismissal and continued on.
Bathsheba. Watching Cotynga dancing across the meadow was once more a reminder of his failure. Surely she would be upset with him, if she had even ever wanted to speak to him again. He could have challenged the newcomer that had come to claim Paradise in his father’s absence. And yet, doubt stuttered his footsteps. Would he be strong enough to defeat the interloper? Was he so willing to pick up the role that he refused so long? Could he make Rougaru proud? Would he make Bathsheba happy? Fear gnawed at him until the young wolf left whimpering with Cotynga at his heels. His pretty mate would be safer without him wouldn’t she? How he wished he could know for sure.
Sorrow gripped him, but Akela buried it deep even as his yellow gold eyes blink away the stinging of unshed tears. He had never been good enough for her anyway. Instead of growing more independent and stronger, he was just a weakling. A thinker, a lover, an observer. Never a fighter at heart. Absently he bent his head to rub his muzzle against his heel, inhaling a deep slow breath of the sundried meadow grasses. He had almost forgotten how warm the sun could feel as it beat down upon his back without the protective shelter of the dense jungle canopy he grew up with. ”I’ll be near the water oak over there,” he shouts out, pointing his nose towards the large tree with its gnarled branches that stretched high above the saplings and pines around it. ”If you need me.” he finishes, turning to amble towards the sheltering shade. A cool breeze billows over his own blue-gray fur as the stallion settles to graze on the knee high green grasses protected by the large branches of the tree. Occasionally he finds himself lifting his head to scan the open meadow for Cotynga’s smokey silver form. He might be a POS as a herd stallion but at least he can be a tentative and dotting father.