They were probably trespassing. Taraxa realized this and promptly ignored it. It was hard to move across the savanna without stomping across the borders of someone's pride, and Taraxa would be damned if he'd tippy-toe around the borders of prides when cutting straight through them would be so much simpler.
He and Gunnar had been traveling for a long period of time now, and he was looking forward to returning home to the pride. He'd been unlucky in meeting any lionesses to club and drag back with him, but his eyes were always alert for anything that might cross his path. He was aching for a fight, not necessarily for a win, but he had energy that needed to burn off. It wasn't smart to just stop in the middle of nowhere and have a friendly brawl with Gunnar: in fact, to do so would mean certain doom on the off chance they were ambushed by someone less-than-honorable.
The large lion yawned in boredom and glanced sideways at his companion. He'd enjoyed their little mini-viking, and now that it was drawing to an end he hoped something would happen. Anything.
