There was no moon; the clouds thick and angry overhead blocked any light that could have trickled between them. No light to cast a reflection upon the tumultuous ocean's surface, though he had left that behind him. Mkhai's investment in the Myrsky Syntynyt was not over yet, but he had made an oath to the fallen Warlord that he could not break. He would not break it. His cubs by her would be raised to be strong, to be a threat upon anyone who would dare challenge them.
The famine had been a plague to a good number of his children, giving them difficulties in life they would simply have to overcome. The weakness it gave them now concerned him - how could the blind see, and the deaf hear? But, in all the years of his life he had learned that weakness was something that simply needed to be overcome. The more life threw into ones paws, the stronger one became by persevering. Those disabilities were not the end for his children, but the beginning.
It seemed, though, that it would not be the only trial they would have to overcome in their young lives. "Is it done?" His voice, cold with reserved anger almost lashed out at the goddess behind him.
Cloaked by a tiger's pelt, the goddess of anonymity appeared behind the god of warriors. "Yes, she is moving through the forest now. We have secured some aid to escort the children through this trial." There was tension in her voice, anxiety over knowing that Mkhai had found out about her failure. There was little she could do to make up for her mistakes, and she knew that if the god of warriors wanted to kill her for it she would go down fighting.
She had lost something that had been precious to him, even if he had distanced himself from the little goddess. Anonymity had been... distracted, but it was best to cast those distractions aside if she valued her own hide. There had been a moment before when she was sure he would kill her for her failure. She had seen it in his eyes, felt it lurking in his soul - the desire to do away with anyone and everyone who disappointed him.
It was her usefulness now that likely made it easier for Mkhai to forget her wrongdoings.
"Good," he answered, his voice low and gravelly. He had not dismissed her, and she knew that. There was a question that weighed on his mind, written upon the furrow of his brows. "Do you think she will make it?"
She hesitated, knowing in her heart the answer. There were so many uncertainties. Mkhai was a difficult creature to tiptoe around. He had no patience for wordplay, and liked things given to him clearly and concisely. "I do not know. Her wounds are grave, and this journey may be too much for her. But, she is strong. You know that she is. I would not count her out just yet." Sitiri knew it by the look upon his face that uncertainty did not sit well with him.
For Mkhai, he knew that this had always been possible. The tides of change were always swaying. He had picked the strongest female in the pride to bear his offspring, simply because there were none other that could compare to Zjarri'fol. The mortal had made some mistakes, but it still took strength to take the pride's leadership position, and further strength to hold on to it for as long as she had.
"And the cubs?" He had never desired to interfere so deeply into mortal matters - it was he had disguised himself as one for so long. Vengeance was never something that crossed his mind, though he would not sway his own children from that path if that was what they chose. That was their decision to make, when the time came. His duty was to make them strong enough to carry out their will.
"They are well, safe. At least, your's are. The other charges in Zjarri'fol's care I assumed to be less important." There had been so many cubs to evacuate to safety, and she knew deep down that Mkhai cared little for the lives of the other litter. Her priority had always been his children, and then the lioness that had bore them. They had all made it to 'safety', and so she had done her job.
"Good." He had stopped, and only then did he realize he had been travelling towards the edge of a forest. The god looked ahead at the tall, looming trees, branches bare and battered by storms. He could hear the trees groaning as the wind shook them. "I will need all the help I can get if she does not make it. I am counting on you."
Sitiri held in a sharp breath. Had she not done enough? How much more aid would she have to give him before he forgave her? Or was this a fruitless cause to gain his favor back. "I have my own business to attend to Mkhai. I have done as you have requested, is that not enough?"
He snarled, "No! You have not." Then, remembering that he did not want to draw attention to himself, he lowered his voice. His gaze, though, remained intense as it rested upon the goddess' features. "I have saved your life, I have come to your aid when you have needed it. This you can do for me. This you will do for me."
"Mkhai -"
"Sitiri."
She froze as her name left his lips, a name she had thought had been hidden well. When had he discovered it, and how long had he kept that knowledge secret from her? All that name brought was that old feeling of insecurity and vulnerability. She hated it, hated that he knew it and only now decided to wield it like a weapon. "How did you..."
"It does not matter. I need your help this one last time, and then I swear to you that I will forgive you and forget your mistakes. You have my aid, as always." He offered grimly. It had been the way their friendship had always worked. He saw no use in keeping friends who had no value to him, and Sitiri had always proven to be very valuable.
"Agreed," she sighed. After all, she supposed what was even a year in the lifetime of a god? It was nothing.
"We have dawdled too long. Let's go, Anonymity." In a moment, he was gone, and in the moment after she was gone as well.