Post by Simba on Dec 12, 2019 22:04:00 GMT
(Lame title is lame. Fabruary 1st, open to Bambi and Simba Inkeriffic )
Sunlight filtered through the trees and lit up Simba’s mane in little spots of fiery red. The big cat ducked to avoid his fur entangling itself on a sinewy limb. He liked the trees for their shade...but it was winter. Without the canopy’s one function of cooling a hefty predator off, it was just in his way. The Crown Prince missed his Pridelands.
Sometimes that was just a dull feeling of being misplaced, a giraffe in a herd of zebras. This war kept him occupied, like Zira’s most recent attack on the supply caravan, and when it didn’t, Kiara, Kopa, and Kion filled up Simba’s mind. But on solitary walks, with nothing to do but think, Mufasa’s son found his mind wandering the now-thorny grass plains of his homeland.
At least he wasn’t patrolling aimlessly. That happened more often than he liked to admit because there were more than enough leaders in the Enchanted Suns. Most of them were human, but still, even at the Summit meetings of the Pridelands’ animals, Simba could never remember feeling crowded out the way he sometimes did in a position of authority with the Suns. His dad, King of Pride Rock, couldn’t be outshone. But the Prince of Pride Rock wished he didn’t feel so lost when he knew he had an example to set.
Maybe Mufasa could tell him more clearly the next time they had the chance to talk. Nala would bump him and laugh and say he had a living, breathing Great King right here to ask instead of speaking to the stars. So why hadn’t he?
Simba rolled red eyes at himself and huffed a lock of shagginess out of his face. Because his father was so busy. Or...maybe it was because he shouldn’t have to tell Simba what to do anymore. I’m not a kid. I’m the future King! I should just...figure this out. I can.
One golden ear flicked uncertainly. A rustle. The Prince was momentarily distracted, but not the less frustrated. Who was that?
Sunlight filtered through the trees and lit up Simba’s mane in little spots of fiery red. The big cat ducked to avoid his fur entangling itself on a sinewy limb. He liked the trees for their shade...but it was winter. Without the canopy’s one function of cooling a hefty predator off, it was just in his way. The Crown Prince missed his Pridelands.
Sometimes that was just a dull feeling of being misplaced, a giraffe in a herd of zebras. This war kept him occupied, like Zira’s most recent attack on the supply caravan, and when it didn’t, Kiara, Kopa, and Kion filled up Simba’s mind. But on solitary walks, with nothing to do but think, Mufasa’s son found his mind wandering the now-thorny grass plains of his homeland.
At least he wasn’t patrolling aimlessly. That happened more often than he liked to admit because there were more than enough leaders in the Enchanted Suns. Most of them were human, but still, even at the Summit meetings of the Pridelands’ animals, Simba could never remember feeling crowded out the way he sometimes did in a position of authority with the Suns. His dad, King of Pride Rock, couldn’t be outshone. But the Prince of Pride Rock wished he didn’t feel so lost when he knew he had an example to set.
Maybe Mufasa could tell him more clearly the next time they had the chance to talk. Nala would bump him and laugh and say he had a living, breathing Great King right here to ask instead of speaking to the stars. So why hadn’t he?
Simba rolled red eyes at himself and huffed a lock of shagginess out of his face. Because his father was so busy. Or...maybe it was because he shouldn’t have to tell Simba what to do anymore. I’m not a kid. I’m the future King! I should just...figure this out. I can.
One golden ear flicked uncertainly. A rustle. The Prince was momentarily distracted, but not the less frustrated. Who was that?
