A Fitting Response

At Mufasa’s hip, like a living reflection, Prince Simba strode. Unlike his father’s grim jowl and pressed brows, the heir’s mouth was crooked downward anxiously. His ears pushed their way through red mane to catch anything Mufasa might say.

Didn’t seem like the King was in the mood for words, yet. Simba knew that face. It was the same one his sire had after the stampede. It was the one that had sent him to his belly as a guilty cub. It was the ‘is-that-a-challenge,’ thunderous scowl that made him feel shriveled up for anyone stupid enough to be challenger.

And in this case, the Thorns were stupider than a herd of dippy zebra.

Simba didn’t pace. He wanted to. But though his paws more than fit in his father’s prints now, he still wouldn’t let himself get in the King’s way. So instead the Pridelands’ golden boy sat near a tree and watched.

As the lions waited for the rest of the leaders, he began to think. Finding a solution to this problem...his dad would have to be levelheaded. One moment imagining his friends, or worse yet, his family members, striding off into battle on an angry command had the big cat’s heart pounding. He had to shake the idea from his brain like a cloud of deadly stampede dust clearing. Okay, so it was a war. Fights would happen. But he knew from a lifetime of watching that Mufasa made his best decisions, like holding a Summit of animals to calmly talk through problems when he was calm...and he made the worst, like say, leaping into a gorge full of storming wildebeests after an idiotic cub without help, when he was...well. Like this.

Mufasa needed to be cool and collected when the others arrived.

Simba forced himself to relax and lean against a trunk, even beginning to rub out an itch on one shoulder. He grinned wryly at his father’s back-and-forth. ”Hey, at least we know they’re as stupid as ever,” the younger lion shrugged. ”Risking your temper just for a few supplies.”

Hopefully his dad knew that he was taking this seriously. But maybe his counterpoint of calm, almost lazy demeanor would settle the monarch and help him loosen up before this big meeting. Simba was so focused on hopefully smoothing out Mufasa’s tension that he didn’t register the sound of someone else approaching until Mufasa lifted his brow.

Mufasa turned a stern stare towards Simba before his expression softened, realization taking hold within his mind. He knew what his son was trying to do, and he offered his son a small, albeit grim smile. He needed to be calm, rational, now more than ever. He was preparing to send some of his soldiers into danger. He couldn't let his temper get in the way of making sound decisions. And well it was that Simba's seemingly flippant remark cooled his temper just as the others began to arrive.

As expected, they were keen to act, clearly wondering why he'd allowed so long to pass after the fight in the forest. Tarzan especially. And they deserved an answer. "We have waited for so long because the ambush in the forest may have been designed to draw us out. Had we raced headlong after them, we could easily have been drawn into another ambush. And, even if we hadn't, we'd have showed our enemies they could make us act without thinking," he explained, letting his gaze drift between Tarzan, Shang, and Belle as he spoke. "Not to mention it was quite possible our enemies may have tried something during the festival."

"But, there will be no more waiting. We will strike at our enemies just as they have struck at us, where they won't expect to be struck," he declared, pausing for a moment as Fergus arrived. Both kings shared a brief look as the great Scot marched forward to join the rest of the group, before Mufasa looked around at the expectant faces. "We're going to raid Paris."

Simba’s whiskers barely had time to lift in a pleased, cublike smile at his father’s nod of approval. It had been years since he’d grown his mane, but still that unspoken camaraderie between himself and the great King filled him with sunlight, warm and strong. Then the others arrived all in a rush, and the Prince’s feline gaze darted from one to the other to watch them arrive.

Tarzan. Without the first human he’d ever met, Simba wouldn’t have his father like a solid rock to stand on in a world of sands.

Shang. He’d learned how much more human other humans were compared to Tarzan largely from this one. He wore much more than the pelts Tarzan did, covering up his vulnerable monkey hide with armor. He carried himself like Ma Tembo and usually had the wisdom of elephants, too. His respectfulness sometimes felt so ceremonial it reminded Simba of Zazu and he had to scrunch his snout to hide a smile.

Belle.There was something soft and peaceful about her that made the younger lion want to stand guard and make sure nothing came near enough to trample her, like a flower. Simba’s ears tilted forward to learn anything about this female human, but she stayed silent. He didn’t know this one very well...she was new to the war. Rumor had it her home was right on the border of the Cursed Thorns territory. He knew what it felt like to have your homeland threatened. They needed to make sure hers didn’t suffer the same fate as the Pridelands.

Fergus. His loud voice and weird smell normally made the heir’s tail want to lash. If there were ever a human who would be fun to wrestle, Simba guessed this one would be it. He hadn’t tried it yet, since that was an example of something a royal Prince probably shouldn’t undignify himself with, but come on. That red mane was asking to be challenged. Still, Mufasa respected the one-legged mammal. At his words, the golden predator was off the tree and on all four feet, alert.

Simba hated the way his heartbeat sped up. It felt like the wildebeest’s stampede, hammering against his chest with hooves of unease, louder and louder. A King shouldn’t feel like this. Sure, maybe in a moment of anxiety—Mufasa himself had been afraid of losing Simba, and he’d never forget it—but nothing had even happened yet and still the male wanted to tear out of the clearing.

His reddish eyes weren’t wide out of terror for himself. It was the thought of losing anything more to thorns and darkness, the images of his pride throwing themselves into battle, Nala facing down creatures he couldn’t even picture...maybe going down in a cascade of dust like Dad had, disappearing under horned shapes...

By the time Amelia had broke into the conversation with the slow, deliberate paces of a lioness on the hunt, Simba had closed his eyes and glowered some strength into himself. This wasn’t like the stampede. It wasn’t like that first battle, the one that cost them the Pridelands in a knot of barbed plants. And he wouldn’t wait around and let himself worry about this one’s outcome.

So when Amelia asked who would lead the operation, it was Simba’s voice that called out in one of his quiet tones of decision, ”I will.”

The sun dappled over Sarabi’s son’s coat when he stepped further into view. At his father’s shoulder now, Simba tried for a wry half-smile. ”C’mon, Dad, let me have a little of the fun.” The Prince murmured. He met the King’s eyes, still clearly looking to him for permission. But he had no intention of dropping this if Mufasa wasn’t onboard.

Then he turned to encompass the rest of the group with his look. After all, this was like the Summit’s back in the Pridelands. Everyone had to agree, even if he personally figured his dad’s was the only opinion that mattered, The big cat watched Amelia and listened. He knew what he thought of another, frontal attack. The idea seemed clever, but wouldn’t it put more Suns in harm’s way? Square jaws parted to say exactly that, but as usual, Simba checked himself. What would his father think?

    A thumb and forefinger gently stroked his smooth chin as he listened. It was a bold plan, if not extremely simple. Usually those with fewer moving parts to go wrong stood the better chance of achieving success. However, in his mind at least, the Captain's addition brought upon an extra level that could either assure success, or remove it entirely. It was as a magician would preform a slight of hand magic trick. While the eyes followed one hand, the other was not idle. It would mean the loss of the element of surprise. Yet a higher chance of success as the Thorn's attentions would be aimed elsewhere. It also would leave at least one group open to combat.

   He motioned to Amelia, giving her a small nod of his head in respect before speaking. A motion that was likewise extended to the Apeman. Showing them both that his intentions where not to belittle her contribution, or his agreement. Only to dive deeper on the details. “I feel as if this method has the potential to insure our success, as well as expose us. Your addition to the plan would mean that one side of the coin will be forced into an engagement. While in exchange our other battalion may have their discretion. However, if the second group was to expose themselves as they went about their sabotage, then the work done by the first will be all for nothing."

    Shang was a pragmatic man. One who tried to see all the pieces on the chessboard before jumping into action. Here was a band of capable leaders, one which he felt had all the competence and effectiveness to succeed. However, this would be their first chance to collaborate. He wasn't going to leave any loose ends available to unravel.

Where father traveled, son would follow.

As the Great Prince came forth into the sunlight, speckled beams dressing his antlers in golden tone, so too did his heir. The most noble, reserved expression he could muster rest upon the Young Prince's face; bashfulness thrummed within. His stomach felt like the last leaf of autumn, shaking in the wind. Something felt a touch off about his own appearance at the summit. At any age, his father was stalwart -- the picture of a fine leader, even past his prime. Meanwhile, Bambi was attempting to keep composure, in spite of his own grace. The presence of Man among them, despite their best intentions, added to the unease.

Nevertheless, the young buck was dutiful. To be in attendance was crucial to their safety. It was crucial to the safety of his home. The mission's failure had already taken its toll, not only within their stock, but in morale. This aspect in particular was one he had felt in the wake of defeat. The frost had never felt so cold in the last week in quite some time.

Throughout the beginning of the meeting, he had followed suit to the Great Prince's behaviors. He stood, listened, watched silent as snowfall. He absorbed the information, and attempted to measure his own response. Yet unlike his father, whose stoicism ran blood-deep, Bambi's reactions to the information delivered as they watched and waited were fully expressive. As soon as the word "raid" had left the strong, golden mouth of Mufasa, his face was the picture of horror.

At present, he stood at the heels of the domain's ruler, intently nodding as the Great Prince made his stance clear. Keeping close to his father was second nature to the buck; he didn't have to join in, but it was better than not being active at all. And the points he raised were ones he too believed in just as strongly. In his own time, so too would the Young Prince bare his own opinion. For now, he was content to listen, and formulate a way to proceed.

He could only hope that it would not cause them more harm than good.