Tradition.
Tradition on the colour of one's fur had dictated he be alone, that he out here amidst the grass, amidst the lands beyond the desert, away from kin, people, away from the swathes of red and touched of black and white. Because he was blue, he had been cast as a Huria and was made to leave upon growing to adolescence. It just seemed stupid to him and more than broke his heart seeing his kind, gentle father torn to pieces over sending him and his two odd coloured away from the lands of fire. It was a shock to his senses to say the least to see and hear so many things outside of the desert and he himself had grown weak and weary with the travels.
The thin teen with his fluffed startings of a mane and tired eyes that nearly matched his coat, had wandered closer and closer to where the air had began smelling salty and the plants and animals looked...well stranger. He hadn't seen trees before, he'd only heard stories and he wasn't sure they were meant to be this tall. Nor did he imagine little creatures that scuttled side to side with no real forward motion. He hadn't delved too deep however because as soon as he had wanted to explore there was the distinct smell of strange lions that he hadn't known before. One thing he was told amongst other things was that...some lions out here may not have been friendly. And that immediately made him feel tense...and more than a little afraid.
What if they hurt him? What if they did worse? And yet all this was echoing helplessly against a hungry belly and Kuchemka's father's words of kindness, of being friendly and gentle. And it left the poor young lion more than a little haggard and confused.
Pandorus Sphinx
