Painted Flowers

Chapter 16 - Night Unfolding

Layali felt more content than she had in a long while. She matched pace with her fellow yearlings with none of the familiar stabs of pain in her shoulder, trotting briskly through the grass, slowing down to a stalk occasionally when one of them would catch whiff of something. She felt at peace, as if she truly belonged to this group--a true Ash dog.

On and on they went, until the full moon shown at its highest peak in the sky and the stars dazzled. Though she felt happy running alongside her new packmates, she was still a bit on edge, with her senses mostly directed towards any sign of danger. There was nothing of alarm lurking as far as she could tell, but something inside told her not to let her guard down.

"Hmm, this area brings back fun memories, doesn't it?"

Layali took a look around her. It was hard to recognize at night, but this was definitely the wide expanse of scrub on the very edge of Ash territory that she had accidentally intruded upon on her solo attempt at hunting impala. Memories came flooding back at the agony of being kicked, and how difficult it had been for her to find shelter as she nearly bled out. She recalled being stranded alone for what felt like hours as buzzards circled above, and how she had nearly given up entirely. Things had certainly changed for the better, but at the cost of abandoning her family completely.

Thoughts of Mosi then trickled into her mind. There was so much that Layali still needed to learn from him, particularly in the field of hunting. Had her father not been killed that morning before her lessons, he probably would have shown her a thing or two, like how not to leap onto an impala's back alone and unprepared in an attempt to take down a creature twice her size. How to go for the throat and stomach, not the hindquarters. This all seemed like common sense now, embarrassingly, and something Layali could have been taught while growing up instead of focusing on how to boss everyone else around her. Her spoiled life of royalty ended up being detrimental in the long run, though she kind of missed being of higher rank--it sure beat being viewed as a useless foreigner.

Layali shook her head--there was no point in dwelling on that now. She made her choice in joining the Pack of Falling Ash, one that she didn't regret. The Pack of Bright Meadows would be just fine without her, even if they no longer had their beloved king. Layali had been banished, after all, and stripped of her royal status. She no longer held any responsibility, (or loyalty for that matter,) towards her old pack. 

But how could she ever forgive herself for never finding the truth behind Mosi's murder?

She began to pick up a faint trail of impala now, all too familiar at this point. Though she wasn't the first to pick it up, as she saw Feoria waving her tail and galloping confidently to the north, her leadership skills shining through. The mamoyo seemed so comfortable in this element, and it truly was a shame that healers were not permitted to hunt with their packmates. She was breaking the rules now, but it wasn't as if anyone here would dare tattle on her, especially after what had happened that day. They all needed some cheering up.

"Aren't ya worried?" The voice tickled her ear fur again like a pesky mosquito. 

Layali looked around, growing annoyed. About what?

Dreamwalker appeared to Layali's left, the side of her good ear, matching pace with her. It just smiled eerily, avoiding her question. Layali rolled her eyes. I'm not alone this time.

The phantom slowly faded away into nothingness. What did it mean? Worried about the impala, or the lioness, or...something else? Layali shook her fur, pretending Dreamwalker hadn't said anything at all, but kept her senses sharp anyway.

She quickened her pace to catch up with her friends, who all seemed pleasantly excited to be out running with each other. Even if they were unsuccessful that night, being that there were only five yearlings in that patrol, they were having the time of their life. There was nothing in the world that made a painted dog more happy than hunting with their packmates.