Daughter of the Sunlands

The child’s hands are dirty. That’s how they are most days, fingernails worn short, dusty red sand stuck under the edges. Skin, dark from the sun, crisping and peeling in places from it too, is dirty no matter how often she visits the watering holes and oases. No matter how many times she splashes in the water, the dirt seems a part of her now, just as much as her inky lashes or the crooked tooth shown off in mischievous grins. 

It isn’t yet time to make for water, though, the thick depths of night still settled over the land. Night doesn’t last long here. Dark doesn’t last long. So, the child likes to stay awake, curled together with her father, safe under the protection of a scrubby savannah tree. Because the night is the only time the stars are awake, and she couldn’t possibly sleep through their dazzling displays, swept all across the stretches of sky. Already, the dark is starting to thin. The black of the night, deep and shiny like the eye of a gazelle, starts to look dusted with red sand too. It’s just like her hands, earth slipping through her fingertips as she digs absently through it, head thrown back to watch the stars. Dawn is fast to turn everything red, first just a dusting, then a brilliant blaze of it. 

As daylight bleeds into the night, the stars hide away again. They must be quite shy, the child thinks, to be scared off so easily by someone as friendly as the sun. Even if she and the sun bicker sometimes, her complaining of its unrelenting heat, it biting back with bright glares and by blistering her skin, they get along. No one else gives her sunbeams to dance in, caught through the branches of a lone tree. No one else gives her warmed rocks to stretch out and nap on. She likes to think the sun is happy to see her enjoying its gifts, too. 

But, the stars always go scattering, running for their dens or holes or wherever they tuck away for the day. Someday, she’d like to be able to tell them there’s nothing to be afraid of, but shout as she’s tried, they never seem to hear. Her older sister didn’t like that much, giving her a firm swat on the side of the head for being too noisy while they were preparing to go off and hunt during the night. She’d scare off the prey shouting like that.

The child waits for her sisters and mother and cousins to return from their hunt, now. With light bursting across the horizon, she thinks they ought to be returning soon. They always do, bringing great hauls of food if it's been a good night. She hopes they’ll bring her along sometime, once they realize how strong she is getting. Once, she tried sneaking off with them, but her mother was too smart for her tricks, keen hearing picking up her footsteps in the sand no matter how silently she tried to walk. Her mother had growled at her to stay put where she’s safe, and her father kept a close eye on her after that, resting at her side with one eye cracked open, fixed on her. 

Now, she’s bought some of his trust back, and he lets her wander as far as their tree’s shadow stretches. It is long in the rising sunlight, thrown all the way over to a scraggly patch of bushes a little ways off. But instead of going that way, to pick at the leaves or snap twigs into finger sized pieces merely for the fun of it, she heads back to the tree. Clamoring for the lowest branch, she shimmies up the trunk, rough hands well trained in the art of climbing. For as long as she can remember, she has been climbing this tree, and any others she comes across. It’s often a race against her favorite sister, who can leap up into the branches in the blink of an eye. The child still isn’t that fast yet, but she knows she will be one day. 

The bark just rough enough to provide a good grip, she scurries up to the top, and with her arms spread wide, walks out across a limb until she can see all of the Sunlands stretched out before her. Or, all of the land until it reaches the horizon, anyway. Taking in a deep, full breath, she breathes in the scents of warming savannah sand and grass that perfume the air. 

All across her viewpoint, from high in the tree, she can see the animals rousing beneath the life giving light. Herds of gazelle raise their heads from their graze, always cautious. A few cranes strut off in the distance. There’s even a small herd of elephants, lumbering their way towards the watering hole. The child spies a young one amongst them, maybe close to her age, being shepherded along by a mother’s trunk. 

Most exhilarating of all, she spots a group of lions, heading her way. Her heart pounds as she watches them saunter across the sand, knowing full well they own the Sunlands. No one dares cross the mighty lioness or the rest of her family, coming together behind her. As it should be. 

The child grabs onto the branch beneath her feet, holding tight with both hands, before she lowers herself off of it, swinging on her arms as the branch sways under her weight. Then, she drops down to the ground, landing in a crouch that sprays up red sand. An exhilarated grin on her face, eyes crinkling with it, she runs to her father, tugging on his hair, his ears, trying to rouse him from his resting. He merely swipes lazily at her, missing by a good length and giving an irritated huff. Clearly, he doesn’t share her same excitement for the start of the day, for the coming of the lions. 

It’s under the blazing sun that her family comes home, bearing gifts from a successful hunt. Their coats gleam, shiny under the new morning. Her aunts and cousins pad past. Her sister greets her with a low chuff, her mother doing the same with a lick on the head. 

The child laughs, putting her hair to rights, and joins the pride. A hand among paws, skin among fur. A girl among lions.