So this was the Pridelands. It was beautiful. Rolling grasslands as far as Bushiri could see, with bright mountains set against the morning sun. Golden moors rolled down the hillside, bordered by a wide, clear river. And framed by all of it was priderock itself, majestically jutting out of the landscape like a pillar of safety. Bushiri gasped, standing as high on his toes as he might to take in all of the breathtaking sight.
“We’re going to live here?” he asked, squirming in the spot, itching to pass the border of the land and bask in the bright sunlight. The mountains were obscuring the sunrise, delaying the crawl of light across the valley. Bushiri’s tail swished back and forth behind him, twirling and lashing against his hind legs. He sunk down in a bow, exposing his claws to grip the ground.
“It’s wonderful.” He itched to race forward. To feel the warmth of that sunlight. All this traveling from the roguelands had done nothing to exhaust his spirit. He wanted to know everything about his new home. Needed to meet every living lion and non-lion and the savannah had to offer him.
But he waited, and watched. His lemon eyes were bright, sparkling with curiosity… but he wouldn’t rush ahead. Not yet. Not without his family.
