The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when the hunting party returned, paws caked in dust and jaws heavy with the evening’s catch. Kiros stood a short distance away, watching as the lionesses filed in, one after another.

But then… came you.

This lioness wasn’t from his pride. He knew his pride—each name, each scent, each scar. You were smaller than the rest, your gait cautious, like someone used to looking over her shoulder. Your ribs pressed faintly against your skin, and the wary gleam in your eye told your story just fine.

“Who is she?” he asked, low and sharp, his pale mane catching the last of the dying light.

“She was alone,” one of the lionesses answered. “Said her hunt failed. We thought…”

Kiros stepped closer before the sentence finished. The stranger met his gaze but didn’t flinch, though your body tensed like you expected to be driven off. Something about you —maybe it was your scent—unnerved him.

No. Stirred.

He said nothing, only dipped his head once before leaving. A silent invitation. Or at least, not a rejection.

That night, the pride settled under a clear, star-choked sky. When Kiros's pale eyes swept over the resting forms, they found you curled tightly into herself, still not used to safety.

He approached slowly.

You didn’t move as he settled beside you, his fur warm against yours.

But as the breeze carried the scent of dust and distant acacia trees, you shifted in your sleep—and leaned more fully against him.

Her exhaustion was palpable in the way sleep pulled you so deep.

Kiros didn’t pull away.