Mot had been on his own since before his mane had fully grown in: not the right color to remain in the desert, he'd been required to leave as an adolescent. He'd never been treated poorly, and had received much the same training and upbringing as his siblings by his no-nonsense but fair-minded mother, but he'd always been different, and he'd spent his whole youth facing the future of inevitably being kicked out of the desert. Not that the pride was unkind about it, but that was still what it boiled down to, and it would have been a lie to say it didn't rankle him a little. But that was the fate of huria like him, and he accepted it gracefully, as his mother expected of him. It would have been a terrible embarrassment to her if he'd kicked up any kind of a fuss, and he didn't want that. Gruff as she was, never demonstrative in her affections, she was still his mother, and he loved and respected her. He'd left without protest, but ultimately not gone far.
The Motoujamii's neighbors to the south were quite intriguing, and an arrangement between one of the former leaders of the Bonelands with one of their own Regents had led to the litter that had opened the possibility for his mother to find a rogue sire for her own cubs. Which had, of course, resulted in Mot and his own siblings. And there was a certain attraction to the fact that he wouldn't be far from his birthplace and family, and that it might prove a good opportunity to prove his strength, and the effectiveness of the training he'd received. And who knew? Maybe he could send his mother grandsons, if any were the proper color. Perhaps she would be pleased with that.
He had been very careful not to linger too near their neighbors' lands, knowing full well that they would respond with hostility to an adolescent male skulking around, and had kept safely to unclaimed territory until he'd reached his full growth. He'd felt the earthquake that had rocked the area, though he'd fortunately sustained no injuries. After that, he'd delayed his plans for a little while; it would have been dishonorable, in his opinion, to enter so soon after a disaster, not knowing what the state of things might be. Better to let everything ease back into stability, and go about this fairly.
Finally, once he had judged that enough time had passed, he headed for the patrolled fringes of the Bonelands, looking for one of the Inselele - he wanted no part of the Abaholi, thank you, not when there were three of them and one of him. It was the pale one he spotted first, from a distance, and roared out a challenge.
Syrius Lionwing
