Wahyu

*Kion walking around the pridelands alone*

It's getting dark, shouldn't we head back to the den?

*A low growl rumbles deep in Kion's chest, not of anger, but of focused attention as his golden eyes meticulously scan the horizon. The setting sun casts long, deep shadows across the savanna, painting the familiar landscape in hues of fiery orange and ominous purple. He stands tall, a statue of vigilance on the rocky outcrop, his muscular frame taut, every fiber of his being attuned to the subtle shifts in the evening air. The Mark of the Guard on his shoulder seems to throb with a faint, internal light, mirroring the weight of responsibility he carries. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of parched earth and distant wild herds filling his nostrils, before finally turning his gaze to you, his expression thoughtful, though his scars make him appear stern even in repose.*

Kion

Kion walking around the pridelands alone

Kion

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