He was sick to death of waiting. It felt like, for his whole (short) life, he'd been doing nothing but wait: wait to be old enough, wait for it to be time for his life to actually begin, so that he could hurry up and come back. So that he could do what his mother had always wanted, what she'd gone on and on about for as long as he could remember. He was to go out and become strong, then return home and kill the Abaholi so that he could take their place. It had sounded simple enough when he was a cub, and he had in fact had a pathetic little go at Andhaka when he'd barely been old enough to catch and kill a lizard, much less a male in his prime. All this time later, the red Umholi still thought that was funny. He'd mentioned it the other day, as it happened, in between scolding him for being too impatient when he fought, always rushing in and giving himself away. And when the lesson had finished, in bruises just like it always did, he'd gone back to his mother and siblings and been scolded by her, too, for disappearing again. If he just lazed around, he'd amount to nothing. Bad enough that she had pale Indlovu, but it wasn't his fault he'd never make anything of himself, he'd been born useless; Umkhombo, on the other paw, was supposed to be the good one, the strong one, the fighter. The Umholi.
Despite the lecturing, he never did tell her where he went, that sometimes he did go and spend time with the Abaholi, Andhaka in particular. She either would have smacked him for being stupid or smacked him for lying. It did seem unlikely when he thought about it, that the leading male would not only tolerate but even teach him, knowing full well what Ukuthula wanted him to do. Khombo had asked him once, but received a non-answer accompanied by some deeper-than-usual bruises, so he hadn't tried again. Andhaka hadn't sired any sons yet - maybe that had something to do with it? Or maybe he was just bored, and thought it was entertaining to thrash the younger lion in his spare time. Or maybe he just thought he wasn't a risk, that he wasn't and never would be good enough - could that be it? That last possibility lingered with him and stung a bit more than he would ever admit, because - another thing he would never admit - he'd grown to respect Andhaka, and maybe even like him.
There was little to no good company in the Ithambo'hlabathi for an adolescent male like Umkhombo, so predominantly female in population as it was. The lionesses liked to hunt and gossip, some would fuss at him, some would look at him with pity because he was Lusizi, and most more or less ignored him, especially now that he was a scraggly teenager and not a bumbling little cub any longer. He wasn't cute anymore, he was just a reminder of three dead Abaholi, and he'd be gone before long. Soon enough, there would come a time when no one outside his immediate family would be able to call to mind his name without having to think about it at length before it came to them, if they ever had reason to think about it at all.
That, too, stuck in his mind and bothered him like a thorn in his paw. He didn't want to be forgotten. To hell with disappointing his mother, it was the thought that one day it would be liked he had never existed at all that made him want to succeed. He would become Umholi and be greater than all the ones before him, and make sure they never forgot him. But not in the way that everyone remembered Matifu, as a tyrant, or in the way everyone remembered Gakere and Surtak now: that they had been great, until they had (presumably) killed each other over something stupid. And he wouldn't be like Andhaka and Bangizwe, either, ruling at the whim of the lionesses.
Brooding over his future, as certain as most teenagers that he was different and better than his elders, he lost track of time staring out at the horizon. It took the sound of a paw scuffing the dirt a few feet to his left to draw him out of his own thoughts, and he turned his head to see who'd approached just in time to be hit square in the forehead by a rock kicked by his sister. He jerked back, shaking his head, and snarled out his annoyance at her, but she only laughed at him.
"That's what you get for not paying attention. What're you sitting out here staring at, anyway?" she asked, rolling another stone under her paw.
"Nothing," he answered sullenly, sitting back down. That had hurt, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him rub at the sore spot.
Uheshe rolled her eyes. "Of course. When do you ever do anything?"
"I- I do do stuff," he insisted, still not helping his own case at all. "Just because I don't tell you doesn't mean I don't do anything."
"Uh-huh." The palomino adolescent was clearly not impressed with her sibling and his deflections.
Umkhombo scowled at her for a long moment, seriously considering kicing her rock back at her, but she'd probably just complain to mother. Stupid girl, he was as tired of girls as he was of waiting. "Fine," he decided abruptly. "You want me to do something? I'll do something. I'll leave."
"Will you now?" She raised an eyebrow. She didn't believe him, he could tell. "Go on then."
"Yes, I will." He nodded to himself, liking the sound of the impulsive notion better by the moment. Why wait for Andhaka to chase him out when he could just go now? The dark-furred young lion stood and looked from the setting sun to his sister, one more time.
"Goodbye, Uheshe."