I. Introduction

Rain fell relentlessly in harsh, drumming beats as the young cub wove his way through the groups of mourning lionesses, sparing a glance at his sister with her muzzle buried into their mother's chest. He didn't quite understand why everyone was crying- and even those whose tears faded into their wet pelts held an air of misery over them. King Mufasa was dead, that much he knew, and his son, Simba, had simply vanished after the stampede. He'd left no small body behind. Mheetu wasn't particularly sorry that either of them were gone; Mufasa had never paid him any attention, and Simba had always picked on him, calling him a runt because of his spotted coat.

He struggled up to the top of Pride Rock, his sharp cub-claws fighting to give him traction on the slippery rocks. Suddenly, a large mouth closed around him, and he let out a little yelp before being carried into the warm, dry cavern that had housed the former "nobility." He was set down on a soft pile of dead savanna grass before looking up as the large, slender lion that had carried him moved to lay down nearby.

"Hey, dad?"

Scar simply grunted in response, turning his sharp green gaze onto his little son.

"How many wildebeests were there in the gorge? Were there lots? Was Mufasa all bloody and gross?"

He tilted his head slightly to one side as his father tensed, claws raking slightly across the cavern floor.

"Let's not talk about such a ghastly subject, Mheetu."

"But none of the lionesses'll shut up about it. They're all crying and saying what a shame it was that the prince is gone, too," Mheetu complained. He got up and shook the rainwater off of his pale tawny coat before moving over to the dark lion. "And you know what, dad?"

"What?"

Mheetu raised a paw to his mouth, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"I'm glad they're gone."

Scar raised a brow at this and looked his son over, his tail twitching as a smirk slowly crept across his sharp-angled muzzle. He didn't say a word.