Darkness blanketed the world, hiding the landscape from the lion's pale gaze, yet he knew each rock and fissure, each cave and pathway by heart and didn't need his sight to look out over a world that had been his home his entire life. Yet now it no longer was, split up by the very same lions who had invaded it all those years ago. Now, scarred by war and fragmented by hatred, the landscape reflected the state of its inhabitants, marked by years of turmoil and strife, split by differing beliefs. Samar was as scarred as the land to which he belonged, his dark coat hiding the evidence of a life lived under persecution, though it was his eyes that betrayed just how much damage had been done, the pale orbs wary and constantly shifting, watching every shadow and flicker of moonlight. Ears constantly twitching even while the rest of his body was utterly still.
He sat up on the ledge that had been his lookout spot throughout the turbulent years of the pride. A spot that now gave him a panoramic view of a land that had once been both his home and his burden, but which now didn't belong to him. For the Druids had been declared independent, given a new name as if that alone was all that was needed to heal the deep wounds inflicted by the Toka-blooded invaders. Star-speckled sides heaved with a deep and weary sigh. He should be glad, the war was over and his people were safe. So why did he feel this weight? Like a shadow across his shoulders, unseen but ever-present, a pall clouding his thoughts and fragmenting any feelings of hope or relief.