'How the Remois, Atalan grated as he twisted desparately, barely avoiding her claws, as she spun past him. The little female had out guessed him, Atalan King of the Wastes? His pride battered and out there for all to see, he knew that there were always 'eyes' out there. Angry now, he roared, springing and this time succeeded, making contact with her shoulder, he knocked her off balance and promptly sat full on her.
'There!', he smirked, he'd wait till she wore herself out struggling beneath him and decide if he'd let her live or not. She was an excellant fighter, but she had gone up against the pride of the Feri, and next to his brother, the best and brawniest male.
Atalan imagined the looks of envy and jealousy from the younger cubs and the winks from the she-cats. Yes, he would parade the female prisoner down through the village and then hand her over to Salmat the Overlord of the Feri's. His father Rudgald the King was still missing, some say he fell to one of the Meri's she-cats. Atalan had laughed at this earlier, but now he wondered if that was the case, he had barely won this fight as reason overtook his earlier pride.
What about Asheatha? He realized that she had not squirmed once, had she expired under his sheer masculinity. Gone was all his former posturing, to kill an opponent that way was cowardly. She could not even save face and her soul would not ascend to the portals of Armena, or whoever her Maker was. Atalan, realized that he and his tribe, knew little of the Meri's or their customs.
So flexing his tired muscles, he half lifted off her, dreading the look of death in her beautiful eyes. He realized his error, too late, for pain rolled over him,increasing and building into a pressure that nearly keeled him over. Looking down, he paled, for there was the lovely Asheatha with her fangs buried in his manhood!
'Give!', she mumbled, grinning as she raked her claws over his scrotum. 'My jaw is tired and I might accidently close shut!', she taunted. 'Accede, to honor me as winner and I will release you!'
Sweat ran in streams over Atalan's eyes and the salt stung blurring his vision. He couldn't recall any of his teachings, everything returned to his vision of Asheatha and her claws and fangs. Any other time, this might have thrilled him, but he was desparately trying to remember his teachings. Maybe conceding to a more powerful opponent wasn't a disgrace, he reasoned.
Lowering his head, in concordance to his teachings he detracted his claws. Atalan braced for the equally painful removal of teeth and claws. ' Oh, was it going to be tender there for a few days. Removing his bulk completely from over her, he watched as she ruefully, stretched, tender and tired muscles.
Leaning against him, she licked at the scar forming beneath his eye and purred. Atalan trembled, her touch was so gentle, soothing and her scent made him nearly swoon. 'How had he ever thought that she stank, she smelled wonderful!', he purred.
Reaching into the satchel strapped to her side, she removed a jeweled collar. Bowing, he humbly lowered his head so she could slip it on over his mane. So branded, he was now her property. Growling softly, his rough tongue stroked gently at her scarred chest and his claws groomed her fur.
'Oh, well, he sighed, 'maybe his brother would be strong enough to defeat his Guardian, when he comes of age!'
'Come!', her eyes sparkled and Atalan thought that maybe being a kept-cat wouldn't be too hard a sacrifice. Dutifully he stepped behind his mate and queen. 'No, not behind me but at my side!', Asheatha snapped.
Reaching for his collar she wrenched it free and with a contemptuous snap of her shoulder she flung it deep into the brush. 'My clan are wrong to use this!, she spat.
Atalan grinned, and pleased he grabbed his sweet 'wild Banther', steadying her on her two hind paws, he showed his mate a secret of his tribe. He would soon teach her how to walk upright and together as equals, they would enter a new era, a bright and exciting; Coming Of Age!