A/N: Well, as it happens, I wanted to have this out a little sooner. I don't think I did too bad, though as it stands now, it's Monday... and everyone hates Mondays, at least during school. Residents of the Southern Hemisphere, or indeed anyone who is not on break from school or work and has to deal with the Monday blues, get my condolences and a chapter to read.
This one's only one scene. I was going to have another part with the hyenas, but this chapter's already over 5,000 words. All I will say is that you will get a little surprise that's been missing for a while. ;)
Reviews!
Night-Waker: lol. Rafiki giving Scar therapy about his problems... that's a funny image right there. And I agree. I would be ticked if Disney made it only to screw it up. -.- Anyways, is there any particular reason you got an account here? :p I know I read a few stories before joining the site (Captive by NinaRoja, a few of the stories by x-The Devil's Advocate-x) and then started reviewing, but I mostly got mine for writing, since that's what I do. lol
pokeking95: I responded to this in a long PM already. Thank you for the feedback! ;o Hope we talk soon... *heads over to our thread*
IronicSnap: It sounds like you're drunk or something, Snappy. xD But of course, as always, I appreciate your theories. They made me laugh, even if Scar being the princess is a little far-fetched... yet you never know! lol That could happen... it's just that there'd be a lot of time-traveling and gender-changing in that particular plotline. xP
Emerald dreamer96: Thanks! I really like the new cover, too. And it's okay, we all make mistakes... Px lol That's a good point, though... I think it's just that there's always some sort of plot or regicide attempt or something going on in the Pridelands, and showing people mercy means having their crazed selves attacking you later. I would recommend that they change to democracy. They have some serious internal problems. lol
mom: Not sure if I thought of Mlinda as slobbering... I thought of him as looking like a German Shephard (one of my favorite dog breeds) for some reason, though I'm 99% sure wild dogs look nothing like that. *shrug* lol
Guest: Give it a shot anyways. It may surprise you. ;)
Danielle: Thanks for the support! :)
RippahGoneWolf: Thank you very much! Yes, I do put a lot of work into my writing, and I'm glad people have noticed. ;) I think I'll have to check out that fic sometime, since it sounds like something I'd really like. Glad you gave my story a chance. :p
TheBreekachu: You know, it means so much to hear people say that. :) I'm glad I could be an inspiration to you. And no worries about the phone thing... I type on my iPod sometimes and Autocorrect always tries to mangle it horribly! Px
And speaking of NinaRoja (who I shall dub the Little Red Riding Hood, due to her username's similar Spanish meaning)... she was anticipated to join us in a review this chapter. Unfortunately, she is currently lost in the forest.
There's no rush, Nina! Just don't get eaten by any grandmotherly wolves on your way here. ;)
Read on, folks.
Scar paced about in the dark of the twilight, his body casting long shadows on the edge of the flat savanna. He wasn't supposed to be out this late: in fact, according to those around him, he wasn't supposed to be out at all, ever. He was still recovering, and moving around was off-limits. But to hell with rules, he'd never been one to follow them: as far as he was concerned, it was just a trick they used to keep him locked up forever… and he couldn't stand the thought of Mufasa controlling him to such a degree. He needed to abscond for some fresh air, he needed to go on his little escapade.
Alas, there was a grain of truth in what they said, but he chose to ignore it. He shut out the pain that shot up as he limped around, his damaged hind limb dragging across the dirt. It hurt… a lot. The festering bite mark seemed to be getting worse, and the bandage had already begun to flop around, halfway uncovering the wound to the unsterile elements. In fact, many of the carefully wrapped leaves had fallen or stripped away, revealing sore, pink flesh and grisly lacerations. But he was angry, and when he was angry, he didn't give a damn about consequences.
Always treating me like a child, he thought with frustration. Always controlling, always demanding…
And it wasn't just now, either—no, Mufasa couldn't ever keep his grubby, golden paws off. He thought back to their argument… just another inane string of complaints, the same old thoughts being flung at each other like a catapult shooting rocks over a wall and hoping to do damage by hitting a stronghold that wasn't visible and may as well have been in a different nation. They were nothing alike—emotionally, they were spread in completely opposite directions altogether. Nothing changed, namely because Mufasa didn't listen and Scar himself wasn't going to defer to the tried-and-untrue tactic of force.
What rubbed him most was Mufasa's accusations of selfishness: claims that the dark lion only ever looked after himself. How untrue! He would have, if he could, but he was never allowed to concentrate on his own affairs alone… frankly, they would have been better off if he was. Mufasa never left him any room to be independent, and whenever the golden king shouldered himself with both their burdens, it collapsed into such a disarrayed mess that even his revered ancestors couldn't clean it up for them.
Kings of the Past. Puh.
Nonsense. All of it nonsense, totally storied rubbish that somehow got passed on through generations because of the acceptance of it by stupid, blindly obedient cubs like Mufasa and his—
Snap.
Scar perked up instantly, teeth gritting in agitation. What else was out this late in the savanna…?
"Who is it?" His eyes narrowed instantly, green irises probing the still, silhouetted surroundings of the grass carpet enclosing him. The stalks rhythmically rustled back and forth, and then everything went silent…
It was probably some small, mischievous animal slinking and tunneling about. If he'd been closer to Pride Rock, he would have even thought it to be a lion cub. Nothing to be worried about. After several seconds he growled and shook his head, turning away and, regretfully, showing his back towards the noise.
He instantly recognized his mistake. Scar stopped instinctively and suddenly stiffened, hackles reflexively spiked and bristling around his narrow scapulae… yet he wasn't able to react fast enough to avoid being blindsided.
"ERRRRM-FFFFT!"
His train of thought and, indeed, his entire sojourn were derailed swiftly and remorselessly, the world and its myriad of soft, sunset hues hurtling around him in several different directions as he was pulled to the ground by a powerful and unseen force. He hit the ground with a thud, letting a sharp and acute cry of pain escape in his confusion. Instantly his mask of anger had turned to one of gripping fear, a cloud of dust from his body's impact serving to further obscure the sight of the creature before him.
And when it finally cleared and revealed his attacker, the vision did nothing to stifle his frightened struggles. A thick profile appeared and blocked out his view of a fading azure sky, and the rich, subdued-gold coat complemented dark locks which cascaded lightly down the neck and chest like a waterfall.
The dark lion tensed up, heart beginning to race in sudden realization. For standing atop him was a broad, muscular individual… already the stranger's paws were digging into the bases of Scar's shoulders with a latent ferocity, and this did nothing to soothe the uneasy feeling creeping around in his gut.
He tried to roar desperately for help, though the male above him seemed to anticipate this and quickly stifled his call with a paw to the windpipe. A fierce growl racked the throat of the younger, golden lion—a sound which pierced through the elder's gossamer-thin veil of composure. He quivered, trying to dam back his roiling, building terror.
The stranger showed his teeth. Once his victim's cry had been effectively choked, he released him, the latter taking a dazed gasp for air and inadvertently letting out a plea he'd heard many times before...
"Oh, spirits help me."
The attacker's face was humorless, his feature pinching into a bitter expression before a twinge of a smirk teased the edge of his lips.
"Odd choice of last words," he grunted, his husky voice more like a bellow than an effective mode of speech. His claws unsheathed slowly, and the dark lion felt his aggressor's sharp points delicately tracing a path from the corner of his jaw before following a soft line down across his throat…
"What are you doing?" he queried fretfully, though in truth, the answer was obvious… "You wouldn't kill me, would you?"
"Why shouldn't I?" He laughed brusquely, fangs exposed in a ferocious grimace. "Mother told me to spy on Mufasa… but you'll be a little bonus. The weakling younger brother."
He raised a paw threateningly, the razor edges of his vicious claws glinting white in the last rays of orange sunlight. The lion was about five seconds away from swiping them across his victim, ready to slice off the crow-black mane and sever his pulsating jugular… but he was distracted again.
"Oh, but you can't kill me like that. Tsk, tsk. Put those oversized hunting knives aside."
His brow furrowed. Unusual for a victim to show such audacity in telling him how to kill. His mother had been quite clear that he was not to be noticed… Scar could not live, or he would tell his brother about the intrusion. Leaving him alive was not an option at this point.
But his momentary doubt was more than enough to encourage the lion to continue.
"Why, who is this mother of yours? Telling you to attack random lions like that? It's so uncouth, really."
The golden lion looked irritated by his cheeky, impudent behavior. A scowl formed on his face, dripping with contempt and malice. "Don't play that with me. You're Prince Scar. A known liar and a traitor."
"Liar? Traitor? Why, what led you to such a conclusion? That would be impolite, I'm afraid." He cocked his eyebrow and chuckled, feigning his innocence. "This 'Scar', though… well, if he is as you say, then he must be quite dangerous. Yet I think I'd remember a name as shameful as that."
"But…" Scar paused, looking up at his captor with glimmering eyes. "You are looking to take the throne with this, are you not? Because if you are, I'll have you know that an upstart king like you must follow the rules."
His voice was a deadly, knowing whisper. It tickled the humid air, the golden lion's brows again knitting together in thought and confusion. What, exactly, did he mean? And why did he sound so urgent?
"What rules?"
"Those of the Great Kings of the Past, of course." His lips twisted slightly, countenance betraying close study as he carefully perceived—and enjoyed—the other lion's blank reaction. As unlikely as it was, his plan was working. "You have heard of them, no?"
The other lion bleakly shook his head, still thinking.
"Hmm, well… questionable parenting, indeed."
"Why should I care about some ghost story?" He shot back suddenly, skepticism woven into his countenance. It was a haunting expression, one which worried the old lion…
"Because! These are no mere ghost stories, now. One must prove himself as a king worthy to inherit the throne! Once his favor is gone, well, the heavens will find someone better and the kingdom will be lost, I'm afraid…"
An oleaginous smile crept across his maw in an attempt at reassurance, the softly-upturned corners of his mouth imparting to his grin a sickeningly, almost cloyingly sincere expression. The other lion turned away in disgusted contempt.
"So… what the hell are you say—"
"You have to act properly. Like a good, just ruler would. And I'll have you know that the spirits frown upon murder, my boy." And then there was an imitative frown on his own face, a pout so prying and greasy and manipulative… the young lion tensed, claws scraping the sparse fur on his captive's shoulders and chafing raw the thin cover of flesh there.
"I see what you're doing. You're trying to get me to spare your weaseling little life. Don't think it'll work."
"Now, now. I never said you couldn't kill me, heh." He spouted, attempting to buy himself more time despite the promising and fateful nature of that statement. "You just… can't kill me in such a beastly way. Every drop of blood spilled for the crown will amount to a deluge on our people, and we can't have that, as a smart individual like you would know..."
The golden lion again looked unsure of what Scar was trying to tell him, veering off and staring into the dark, looming clouds with a thin-lined smirk crossing his distant visage.
"… That doesn't sound so bad."
"Oh, it will when the torrent comes. It will when the rivers overflow their banks and flood the plains and kill all the animals you rely on. The Kings control your fate, you see."
"So what do I do, wise sage?" He queried, voice dripping with malicious sarcasm. Yet the lion's response was annoyingly calm and authoritative.
"Perform the ritual. Show the kings that you will be a pious king... Go on, and unleash your mightiest roar."
He studied the golden lion with those piercing green eyes, unsettling him to the utmost extent. This routine of reconnaissance and living in the wilderness hadn't lasted long, and though he did not doubt whatever masterminded plan his vengeful mother had conjured up from the depths of her imagination, he in his inexperience still had his qualms. After all… she had taken this into account, right? They hadn't even known Scar was still alive—all of what he was doing was ad lib. And most importantly… what if what he said did have some truth in it? What if a higher power was… watching him?
The golden lion let out a half-hearted roar, eyes open and intently studying the dark lion under him the entire time. Scar flinched and blinked, but didn't appear impressed.
"Please, my mother could roar louder in her grave. Remember, I'm doing you a favor for the good of the people."
The dark lion gazed intently at him with narrowed eyes, hoping that he would indulge him and give him something loud. For surely, the sound of a foreign male roaring so grandly would alert Mufasa to a dangerous ruffian more than Scar's own pitiable cries ever could. As it was, it was surely only a matter of time before the golden king leapt into the fray and trounced this galling intruder. And when the lion roared louder than any he'd ever heard before, if only in a bout of frustration and a marked lack of forethought, he could do nothing but cringe, his face pinched and his mind absently hoping that his eardrums hadn't been pounded into absolute oblivion.
"Are you happy?" the lion rasped hoarsely, a tinge in his deep brown eyes hinting to murderous intent. He panted, still recovering from the great breath he'd taken and no doubt suffering from the strain plaguing his vocal cords. "Can I kill you now?"
"Oh, but wait… not yet. You have to say a prayer to the great spirits."
Scar simpered, knowing he'd annoyed the lion near the breaking point and could not hope to live much longer. The golden individual's reply was accordingly brusque, his voice still as full of asperity as rough, gritty sandpaper.
"How? To who?"
"Well…" Scar trailed off, realizing that his fear was catching up to him and that he hadn't planned this far ahead. The other lion squeezed him harshly, patience dangerously low.
"Well," he mocked tauntingly, "why don't you show me? Go on, lion, pray for me."
"Oh please, I can't pray for you." Scar chuckled, teeth displayed in a perfectly straight, innocent expression. In truth, though, he would have had no ideas on where to begin… and this conversation sounded so familiar—right down to the timbre of his attacker's deep and booming voice.
"Why not? I thought you were supposed to be a pious individual."
His tone sounded so degrading, so mocking… and in that split instant, despite the lion's dark mane, Scar saw a hint of Mufasa in him. He noticed his power, his shimmering gold coat, and his amber eyes, which always stared in deeply and looked terror-inducing when he was angry.
That was just something the present king would say as well. And for his brother, Scar had to make himself clear—he had to make a statement. Otherwise the lion would just push him around until he was shoved off the ends of the earth.
Perhaps delusion played a part in what he did next. For Mufasa was never far from his troubled mind, and there was no escaping that, or the spreading nonsense which would encamp itself into the already-crowded space between his ears.
"You know I don't believe in that ass-tripe, brother…" his voice came out as a distracted mumble, eyes seemingly hazy and not focused on his antagonist. "Spirits, pah… what bloody nonsense…" he growled, staring off into the distance with both a shiny trail of saliva and the slightest hints of self-satisfaction staining his face…
Until, of course, it once again dawned on him that this was not Mufasa.
If the spirits did exist, he deserved to be cursed for his stupidity.
"At least, I don't believe in—"
"Hahahahaha!" The older lion looked overjoyed at this incriminating evidence, sending a pang of instant regret coursing through his victim's body… although really, it was only a matter of time before he broke down and finally killed him. Their game was only going to last so long.
"I knew it. I knew you were toying with me all along. You filthy liar." His face contorted with rage, and Scar vainly tried to cover his tracks… though all involved knew that it was far too late to attempt to prove his innocence. In a way, Scar almost wished he hadn't said anything… the lion would have been quick and he would already be dead.
"No, no, I don't really—"
"QUIET! I am going to kill you…" he looked at him severely, anger burning at the thought of being thus tricked and further antagonized by Scar's inadvertently relaxed expression. "… But first, I will rip out that wagging tongue of yours so I may never hear your insidious lies again!"
The lion stopped and every part of him tensed in suspense, obviously not prepared for this… development. His teeth instinctively gritted together into a stiff, interlocked position, lips pulled tightly together and angry defiance burning in his eyes. He wouldn't make it easy for him… though that didn't seem to trouble the younger lion. Noting a flimsy bandage half peeled away at his victim's ribs, he pulled it off and studied the wound, a smirk exposing a flash of his teeth.
His unsheathed a claw and noted the tender, hairless flesh that was struggling to heal over. The entire area was sore and inflamed, the lips of the cut beginning to join together irregularly to form a long, jagged scar. But so much for that.
He dug in his claw and reopened the gash, blood oozing out in a relatively slow trickle as he pulled it deliberately across his hide… though he noticed the reaction it caused his elder, who closed his eyes and couldn't help but expose his teeth. All he noticed was the raw feeling of red-hot waves rolling over him like a bloody ocean, the shock of it shaking his core and slowly, gradually squeezing an anguished, lengthy cry of pain from his contracted diaphragm. He tried to bottle it up, to again hide and dam back his hurt, though when the lion twisted the hooked implement back and forth inside of his body and tortuously tortured the side of his torso, it was too much.
The angry lion grasped his spread-apart maw and tried to pry his muzzle open, Scar's nose being forced upwards as his mandible was pulled down and seemingly to the point where it was going to break off from his skull. His face was contorted and scrunched, mostly due to his attacker but also because of the pained expression which covered his visage and forced a pained moan to be issued from his throat. The fire burning in his jaw was intense in its own right, the lion continuously fearful that it would be broken under the lion's deathly grip.
He felt the claws clutch his wet tongue, the sharp points digging in as he prepared himself for the gut-wrenching pain of having it severed and butchered away. Everything tensed, everything was silent save for the half-coherent moans his caught figure was emitting…
And then the lion stopped.
Scar hung in this tenuous position for several moments, eyes screwed shut in sick anticipation of subsequent events, but nothing came. The claws were still there, but there was no conviction behind their grasp, and the lion himself did nothing. He appeared dizzy, his breathing becoming heavy and his legs twitching wildly.
There was little pain anymore… only the throbbing in the hinges of his jawbone which never seemed to go away, likely because of the fact that his lips were open wide enough for a whole paw to mostly fit inside. He breathed through his gaping mouth, heartbeat slowing as he waited there…
His attacker fell over.
The horrible claws and paws were gone, his stiff muzzle relaxing shut until he could bend down and lick away the zigzagging lines of blood staining his matted fur. Which unfortunately wasn't anytime soon because the other lion's form was slumped limply over him, brawny and horrible muscles now only serving as more dead weight pinning him to the floor.
Sticking out of the uniform mat of golden fur was an acacia thorn, which had neatly punctured his right shoulder and barreled deeply into the flesh. Several bright feathers were sticking out, bound with twine like hostages to the light missile, hues congruous to wild lights at a carnival… bright reds and yellows and blues which contrasted sharply with the dull brown of the sharp sticker which had been shoved into its victim. The flesh around it was already becoming dark and discolored, veins sticking black and varicose above the skin in a sickening display only vaguely hidden by his hide. The breath from his muzzle was irregular and shallow; his heartbeat was a sickly, thudding throb which stopped after another a short while.
He was dead. Or dying, perhaps—Scar didn't know, though the lion was certainly unconscious.
The only problem was that now he was stuck, his weakened form unable to shove the golden body off of him… no matter how much he twitched and writhed like a coiled serpent pressed under a boot. He tried to wedge his shoulder into the lion and pry him off, even kicking him harshly in an attempt to dislodge him… though all this did was cause the stiffened feline to bounce a little, dark mane flopping like a limp, dirty flag, and come crashing back down on top of his victim.
A few more attempts and Scar was tired, panting hard under the corpse's crushing embrace. He could see the golden mouth slightly agape in a circular shape, one which hid his sharpened saber fangs, with his eyes closed softly and expression almost innocent… a look which starkly contrasted with the terrifying, angry countenance he'd donned only moments prior.
Yet this did nothing to soothe him, for the lion in death was still lying across his ribcage, limbs already unnaturally stiff and swaying slightly. The entire weight of the carcass was squeezing his body, slowly suffocating the zealous attempts his lungs made at breathing and catching up with the racing pace of his heart.
A part of him was angry over this, cursing his luck as he slowly suffered from the lack of oxygen… the spirits, assuming that they existed, truly did curse him. After all, they saved him from a horrifying death only for another demise to be lying in wait for him! What sort of sick, perverse joke was this…? Why would the lion just die, presumably killed by some unknown ally, only to be left on top of him? What the hell…?
But then he felt the scent wafting by his nose, the familiar odor causing his muscles to stiffen more tersely than those of the dead body above him. Oh no. Oh, merciful spirits which obviously felt nothing towards him, no.
"Do you need help there, dear?"
There was no mistaking—that was Zira's chronically stiff, brunt voice. He breathed harshly, the dead lion's chest still pressing at his ribs and side… he tried to manage a weak 'no', though she could barely hear him. She was still off to the side, in the grass, and he couldn't see anything behind the mass of lion blocking his view. He missed the slight, cocky smirk she flashed him, or the toothy chuckle she emitted in conjunction with it.
"Scar, did you know that a single bite from a black mamba can kill over nine thousand mice? Fascinating, isn't it…?"
Her nearby, inquisitive rasp had sounded over his harsh, ragged breathing, which was promptly relieved when she suddenly rammed into the cadaver and shoved it partially off of the dark lion, who was grateful for the relieved pressure… even if he still couldn't move his limbs.
"Lucky I'm not a mouse, then… although that's about all I'm lucky for."
"Oh," she chuckled flatly, red eyes gleaming in a hidden sense of adroitness, "I put enough on that thing to kill an elephant. Rafiki has some useful tricks up in that tree of his. And when I heard the roar, well…"
She paused, unsure of how she should continue. Her muzzle was wrought into a self-satisfied expression, something which contrasted thickly with his anger. "You're lucky I was even here. From the looks of things I'd say the cat had your tongue."
Her literal metaphor surpassed the bounds of his atrophied sense of humor.
"How did you even…?" He angrily motioned with his narrowed, acid eyes—which were about his only mobile body part—towards the acacia sticker, which was oozing venom. "What if you'd shot me with that, hmm?"
"I never miss," she chirped with plenty of casual levity.
Great. She had bet his life on her marksmanship skills… though he had to admit that he was surprised he was still alive. That made him inclined to think she had indeed missed after all.
"Why'd you dare to show your face here?" He attempted to free himself, though he only flopped like a caught fish dangling helplessly on a line. Zira looked puzzled, lips pressed into a thin, patient line. It had to have been the delusion; after all, she'd seen his wounded figure briefly in the tree, even though Mufasa had been intent on her leaving…
"You look hurt. If you wish for help, I can—"
"Please, just stop!" He growled, his entire world swinging by him dizzily. This wasn't worth the effort. Scar was about one false step away from losing his mind… he had to have been. He flopped his head back harshly on the ground, mane parting to reveal his vulnerable throat. She noticed the slender form of his gorge contract as he swallowed in fear, likely from being trapped, and when he let out a soft breath it was in surrender.
"Go and cut it, curses on you," he spat, voice brimming with venom more potent than that which had killed his foe. "Better than sending Usiku to do it, hmm?"
Zira's face softened in realization. She'd never meant to hurt him, and yet this was inevitably her fault. That's why she had returned at all… his life had been on the line due to his injuries, and whether it was requited or not, she still felt a sense of affection and protectiveness towards him which piqued at the sound of the foreign roar mingled with his faint scent.
She turned, revealing a halfway scarred-over patch of open skin that ran up and down her shoulder. It slowly dripped blood and, though she'd obviously administered to it carefully, clear fluid—doubtlessly pus or some similar substance indicating infection.
"I didn't mean for her to find you, Scar. I kept my mouth shut, though she did this to my shoulder and threatened to slice me to ribbons if I didn't tell her… I guess she thought that she would find the king if she found you, or would administer her sense of justice…"
"So you let go? You betrayed me to have me wounded thus?"
"No!" She cried with a sudden urgency, not pleased with his accusations. "Why would I do that…? I lied. I told her you were in the south, in the Pridelands, since I knew you wouldn't set a foot there. And then I ran away, for my own safety and to hopefully find you before it was too late…"
"But I was in the Pridelands," he replied brusquely, ignoring her explanation. "I was nearly killed because of your thoughtless actions…"
"Well, you told me you were in the east, paying a ransom." And then, with as much frank austerity as she could muster, the scrawny, tawny lioness continued thoughtfully in her defense: "you know, it's not my fault if you lie to me, Scar. I was only trying to help you."
She was right, of course, in a way. He still hated her for it, as he hated being wrong… but now he could see the rather shameful revelation which he hadn't believed ever since he'd first met Zira. And that was that she was genuine. She did want to help him. She meant him no harm. And most of all, she'd saved his life more than once… if it weren't for her, he would have died already, several times over.
The suspicions were false. Zira was just a lioness… a crazed, somewhat enigmatic lioness who obviously didn't know what was best for her, but no threat to him nonetheless. She hadn't taken his offer, for she obviously did not have her sights set on killing him.
"Fine, then. Fair enough. Could you lend a paw? I need to speak with you about… this."
Whatever 'this' was.
Zira said nothing, of course, but she was complacent enough. Using as much strength as her wiry body could muster from its supple muscles, she pushed the dead weight off of him. Scar immediately rose to his feet, obviously not in the best of moods, though still sensible enough to understand what she meant to him.
He couldn't kill her. She'd come back after everything, and had finally proven herself in a way. As such they stood, rather awkwardly, for several moments, Scar pressing her with his piercing verdure irises.
It was time to take this to the next level, and make it official. Because at this point, he badly needed someone loyal to stand by his side and help prevent accidents like this one. His brother was ambivalent and wildly unpredictable, to say the least, and none of the others seemed to harbor much goodwill towards him.
"Come here."
She did so, muzzle pressed together tautly and silently. Her head dipped slightly in deference to him, the lion taking this opportunity to clutch the clumpy scruff of mane-like fur which hung limply across her forehead.
"What are you doing?" She instinctively stiffened, not inclined to appreciate the way Scar was handling her scruffy 'mini-mane'. It was a strange feature which she and her mother had both shared, and it appeared to run in the family.
"We are starting over," Scar replied shortly, too busy with his work to extrapolate. His claws cut and sawed away at the patch of fur, leaving it short and bristly between her ears. At this point, the light fur was sparse enough to allow a clear view of the stripe which ran from the center of her forehead to the point where her shoulder blades poked out from under her hide. Her face already looked considerably different—it had lost its youthful, indolent look, and the angles which her hair had hidden were now visible and sharp like the rest of her chiseled face.
"From this point forward, you are no longer a member of my brother's pride, nor any other. You do not answer to them. Like the rogues that were your ancestors, you belong to no group but your own… the one you have chosen… and this stripe is a symbol of that. Keep it visible always."
Zira looked up at him in understanding, red eyes showing a rare glint of submissiveness like a mirror into her reverent spirit. From now on, she was only loyal to him, and for the first time they both realized it.
"You are mine. I will protect you, when I have recovered, and you shall do the same for me. There must be no more division amongst ourselves… and for now you are the only one I trust. Do you understand the gravity of this agreement?"
"Of course," she replied gravely, softly…
"Then under the weight of death, let us seal our oath." He unsheathed a claw and pricked the edge of one of his digits, allowing a splash of blood to silently grace the tufted, mussed contour of his other paw and drip down into his palm… Zira followed suit, her claw efficiently running a notch through her ear which left a crimson red in her wake. They glanced stolidly at each other, her sanguine eyes meeting his jade-hued gaze. And then their paws met, clasping together strongly and sealing their arrangement. No longer would he be the weakling, the manipulated variable. It was time to even the odds, to right the wrongs… there would be a time to plan his future, to think ahead and turn the tables. But for now, they had each other, and that was all they needed to plot the next step.
"I must return to the tree. I doubt Mufasa will be happy otherwise…" he looked off into the distance, lips pursed in an irritated, vaguely determined expression. "… Meet here tomorrow. Do you hear me?"
"Yes. I will… if…"
If I can, she thought to herself. For alas, there was no way she could be sure in arriving safely. The Pridelands were sadly off-limits, at least after what happened with Nala and then with Mufasa's posse…
"If what?"
"Nothing, dear. Nothing. I'll be there tomorrow."
They parted and left their separate ways, both vaguely troubled. For there was danger presently brewing, dark and stormy, on the horizon… and on the eve of its arrival, when the harbingers of doom had assailed their deadly-quiet doorstep, the attack he'd suffered through at the paws of that lion would be the least of his worries…
So Zira came back! In addition, I kind of hinted at several things which happened in canon, since it's common knowledge that TLK II is extremely sketchy and vapid in its details and reasoning when it comes to... that stuff. The notch in her right ear represents her covenant of sorts with Scar, as well as the stripe down her head (as I've already explained), which she shows to display her continuing devotion to him. Continuing on with the logic of my theory, Zira is Vitani's mother, and that explains the similar fur/eye color as well as the tuft, which Zira had until this chapter.
Oh, and to avoid another salamander blunder like that from last chapter (thanks goes to pokeking95 for noticing they don't live in Africa), I actually did some research on black mamba venom. They had some chart on how many mg of venom it takes to kill 50% of the individuals in a kg of mice if injected subcutaneously and blah blah blah... so pretty much, as the website said, if you take into account the average weight of the mice and how much the mamba injects on average in venom, you get enough for about 9375 dead mice in one bite. So, what's the venom's power level?
...It's over NINE THOUSAND!
... dead mice...
...
Sorry, I just had to. I'd feel bad if I missed such a perfect opportunity. Review as always, my lovelies! ;p Try not to maul me though... or any red little girls you may find in this locale.
¿Yo les he dicho a ustedes cuanto yo los amo? ;o Sigan leyendo, amigos y amigas. Mil gracias.
Twin