An interpretation of what Simba's thoughts might had been when he stepped foot back into his homeland after all those years and looking what it had become in that time.
I own nothing. The Lion King and all its content and characters belong to their respectful owners. I don't own the cover image either.
Enjoy the story!
A dead twig snapped under his foot. The grey, cracked earth crumbled under his paws as he slowly moved and took in the horrifying sights before him. What once was lush, tall, green grass was nothing more than sparse, thin tufts scattered in-between. The sky held the same lifeless color as the land below. Leafless, dead shrubs and trees prodded out of the ground like skinny, long fingers. Skeletons of long dead creatures were common and many in his sights, old and grey as the world around him. Everywhere he looked it spoke death and lifeless to him.
His strides were slow and soft, like if he was worried that if he was too loud it would alert the monsters that may hold residence in this land to come after him and turn him grey and dead as well. The ground felt hard and rocky beneath his paw pads, not at all like the soft, rich soil he was accustomed to growing up years ago here.
He kept walking and finally came to a stone ledge with some height where he could survey the entirety of the damage that grew while he was gone. His maw opened and his eyes softened in sadness as his eyes disbelieved what stood before them.
No herds stood in the savanna, it was all empty and barren. No birds flew above, the skies were silent with only the few and small whispers of wind to churn the air. The place where the life-giving river once flowed through was nothing more than a deep, dry canyon. Trees had turned to dead structures, grass had turned to dust and towering above it all was his birthplace and home, Pride Rock.
What once a monument to the Pridelands and served as a beacon out of the grasslands for those who lived to come seek wisdom, guidance and help was as bleak and dreary as the rest of the lands. One might even mistake it for just another rock sticking out of the dirt, as it no longer held any majesty or beauty to it's structure.
He stared at the kopje in awe at it's now aura of death and hopelessness it brought before narrowing his ruby eyes at it. Scar was the cause of all of this. His reign had brought nothing but days where the inhabitants would starve, thirst, tire and die. He had abused his power where it had brought destruction instead of glory. He neglected to see the signs of life decaying and rotting while in his eyes being king was the only thing that matter.
In his eyes, he was ruler of the Pridelands. To any other, there were no more Pridelands and what he ruled was only decay and destruction in the grey, bleak lands.
He was about to change that. He would go, confront his uncle, challenge him and fight if he had to, but he would restore the Pridelands to its former glory. The waters would once again flow and bring the plants back to life. The herds and flocks would come back, life would come back to how it used to be.
He would fight for his home or die trying.
Finally, something with an ending not so dreary as my other stories I've done today. Hope you enjoyed this, I saw a picture of the Shadowlands and felt drawn to do a story about it. I kinda used words from the song "Shadowland", that originally described the land during Scar's reign, but it was but for time.
Thank you for reading, please leave a review some feedback how I did, it's very appreciated. Sincerely, v.t.7