[minifun990]

I havent done a S6 in so long, feel like I've gotten rusty

For Tanisha there was nothing better than a good story. They was something about them that was so powerful they were almost otherworldly. It wasn't just the words, it was the feelings, the atmosphere, the imagery so strong that for a moment you felt like you were there.

Running through a magical forest looking for lost treasure.

Celebration after great battles are won in the name of honour.

Heart clenching in despair and grief as everything you cared for was lost.

Relief when, in the end everything turned out alright.

The revenge, the lies, deceit, truth, life, death all woven together, parts of the great tapestry of life.

It was addictive, both hearing the stories, but also passing them on. It was this shared joy that gave rise to a wandering pride, one that enraptured any they met. They were nicknamed the Silk Show and they were said to be the greatest storytellers of all time.

It was a huge standard for Tanisha to live up to, she had been born in the pride and so while she could leave. It was her dream to join them properly, to work alongside her parents and pride mates rather than depending on them.

There was one problem.

Tanisha hadn't found a Medium.

Having a medium was necessary in her pride, at least if you wanted to tell stories alongside others. They were the unique methods in which they set the scene for their stories.
Each member of her pride had a unique way of showing and expressing their tales.

While one lion sculpted figures from liquid earth, blasting them into pottery another lion might talk through flicking flames, another drew sweeping arcs with dark ink across light bark, her mate spinning orbs of water through the air. Magic was a favoured medium for many, but there were also the no less interesting lions who could pull others in with nothing other than words.

But while it was incredible, none of it called to Tanisha’s own stories. She tried so many things, desperate to join in but nothing felt right. Her sculptures fell flat, the fire burnt her and the water just soaked her paws.

Using her paws to explain sometimes helped but it didn't feel like Enough. It was good, but not good enough. Her words often stumbled over one another and while others listened anyway she didn't have the same draw and appeal to her stories that others had.

Until one day, as she washed down in a cool river, she heard something.

It was fine and reedy and yet powerful. A voice sang along, masculine though the words couldn't be heard from the distance. Music. It was the one medium her group didn't have much access to, this music in the distance was far more expressive than the warbling her brother said was his medium, or the bass-like drum that set the pace when the troop moved. It was the humming of voices, and an instrument that was sung in such a different way to the drum that Tanisha wondered how the sounds they created could both be called music.
520