Baik’hati had grown up with a large family. Large in the sense of many family members. Large in the sense of that all those family members were giant. And he was a runt. As a cub, it was not a big deal to his family. He would have a growth spurt. He would grow. So Baik’hati grew up with the pressure of that expectation, pressured to be large. His family were what one may call bullies. They favored the big and strong and would gladly stomp on anyone who did not fit that expectation. Besides him, he was family. And he still had time to grow. He needed to grow.
As a cub, he was quite creative in coming up with ways to grow. Perhaps he could hang from a low branch by his teeth and his body would stretch. Eating whatever and as much as his largest uncle could also help. Doing whatever they did may be the solution. The only think Baik’hati could not bring himself to do was take advantage of those smaller. He simply could not. Partially due to the fact that he would feel hypocritical, being small himself. But mostly because he knew what it was like to be small in a big lion world. It was rough. It was full of expectations and disappointment.
He was expected to hunt, to kill. And he had to. Once they realized his reluctance to kill, food had been withheld. Baik had to learn to feed himself. And, faced with the idea of starvation, Baik took a small critters life. As a cub, he had sobbed over the deed. And scorned for his tears. He eventually ate the body of the life he had taken, filled with hunger, shame, and the need to fit in, to make his family happy.
By the time adolescence came around, it was becoming obvious that Baik was not going to grow. He was still a runt. And their cruelty towards those smaller became directed at him. He was scorned, left behind, given scraps. They were not overly abusive, like they were with nonfamily members. But they certainly were not kind. There were barely any women in the pride. Sure, there were a few that were carrying cubs. But they never stayed long. They were temporary, a means of relief and offspring for the males. Once the cubs were born, mothers and daughters were left behind. Sometimes, a male lion would forsake the pride to follow the mother and daughter. It was uncommon and considered weak. His own father did not follow his mother.
Baik’hati wondered how his mother would be like. Was she a kind woman, gentle to the core? Did he get his pacifist traits from her? His smallness? Or was she similar to his father, leaving Baik’hati the odd one? Since he doubted he would ever be able to meet her or find out if he had sisters, Baik was left to just wonder and daydream. Dream of a life with a simple, loving family.
Things went south on his nameday. There was a large celebration, in honor of him. It was all odd, everyone excitedly talking with him, laughing with him, playing with him. He was given a drink with an odd smell and told to drink. It was tradition, he was told, though he never heard of a tradition such as that. His father watched him with misty eyes and it did not occur to Baik’hati that there were tears. ”My son,” his father uttered. It was all he said. And then the world went black, the small adolescent lion falling unconscious.
When he came to, there was no one there. Fear vibrated throughout him and he went around to search, calling for his pride. No response. He had been abandoned. Abandoned by his pride. His family. His father. He should have saw it coming. He was too weak to remain with them, of course they would not want him to sully the pride. But now… he did not know what to do, where to go. He did not know how to live alone.
For days, he hunted around, unsuccessfully catching prey. Hunger grumbled his stomach. He lived off of berries for the most part. And one day, he ate the wrong sort of berries and fell ill with a fever and severe stomach cramps.
He was found by a family of rabbits, nursed back to health by the tiny creatures. They were nervous of him, unsure whether he would cause them harm. His heart went out to them, how they risked the possibility of danger in order to make him well. It took a week for him to get on his feet. And another week for him to gain back his strength. And within those two weeks, Baik fell in love with the family of hares. He didn’t want to leave. And when they noticed his hesitation, they smiled at one another and offered their home to him.
Baik felt like he belonged with the hares. Even as he grew to a giant and towered over the small creatures, he happily hopped around and nibbled on berries, playing with the abundant of children the rabbits produced. The head lady once commented on his height. He had informed them quite some time before of his pride, of how it was like to live there and the expectations required of him. She commented that his sudden growth spurt was due to happiness. That the stress and need to please had kept him stunted. And that it was the pride’s own fault for not being able to see the large and lovely lion he had become. Baik’hati felt that, if he had ever met his mother, she would be must like the head lady. It was not too long before he started to think of her as his own mother.
It eventually became time to leave the family, to seek out the world and perhaps settle down. He did not want to but it was insisted by the rabbits. He would always have a home, they told him. And if he did not like what he saw of the world, he would always be welcomed back with opened arms. He was, after all, their son.
