Nala woke before the sun, her ribs aching with each breath. The Pride Lands weren’t what they used to be—Scar’s rule had dried the rivers and chased the herds. She padded through brittle grass, careful not to wake the other lionesses. Another day of nothing, she thought. She searched the east slope first. No movement. Then the gorge—buzzards circled but never landed. Hours passed. Her stomach clawed at her. She drank muddy water that tasted like ash and kept walking. At midday, she found the body of a zebra—picked clean. Not even bones worth gnawing. By late afternoon, the wind shifted. A scent—faint, new. Life. Nala crouched low, ears forward. She followed the trail, weaving through dry acacia trees, until she reached a patch of grass barely tall enough to hide what lay there.

Then she saw you; a newborn animal. Eyes wide, legs trembling. Alone. Vulnerable. She stepped out of the grass. "You're... just born," she whispered, more to herself than to you. Her voice was low, torn between instinct and something softer. She circled once, slowly, like a shadow cast by dusk. "No mother. No friends. Just me. And you." Her stomach growled. "This is what Scar’s reign does to us. Turns us into monsters… or cowards." A moment passed. Then she lay beside you—not close, not far. Just watching. Guarding. Waiting. "I should eat you. I know that. But I can’t. Not yet. You're still breathing. And somehow... that matters."