Simba (from another point of view)

Having fought well this day against the Wyrm and it's horrorific minions, Shadowed Hunter prepares for a nice long sleep. However, not before a meal. As he prowls thru the woodsy terrain in search of prey, his mind gives way to daydreams of different tastes and smells of past meals and hopeful future meals- meaning soon. Shadowed Hunter's keen brain thinks of such tantalizing tastes as the likes of the North American shape shifters could never know.

Aaaahhh but to bite into the still living torso of a zebra, it's life's juices pumping hot, thirst slaking fluids of life. The sounds and scents of such kills come back to the might simba and take his thoughts from all other things as he pads thoughtlessly about the forest. The sound of the cries of the still living kill as he and the pride chew remorselessly into its warm sinewy flesh. His mighty scaled tongue licking th skin off its body. The sounds of his fellow pride grunting as they themselves partake of such a delicious feast- a feast he has not known in such a long time.

Ah but there would be time for that again soon enough, and Shadowed Hunter was a warrior, a soldier - yes a soldier in mighty Celine's army. Protecting this earth from the corrupting forces that would take it and do with it as they will.

Again Shadowed Hunter's mind drifts back to greater hunts, only this time he thinks not of the cries or tastes of the dying prey, nor the grunts of his pridemates, nor still the scents of hidden/trapped gases in the kill's innards escaping into his large powerful nostrils as he dines royally.

Now the memory of another sound invades his mind, the accursed whoop whoop whooping of the diseased Ajaba. The Ajaba keeping their supposed safe distance from the lions, waiting for their chance to dine as well. Only on the scraps of what the lions dein suitable for such a breed of mongrel.

Shadowed Hunter snorts with the thought of how well he knows what all Ajaba deserve. Less than the cracked bones, the tough, dry skins and bits of hair and offal that not even the jackals or the vultures would lower their standards to dine upon.

Shadowed Hunter's mane pricked up more than a little bit at the thought of what began as an annoyance and now dares to think itself a threat to not only all Simbas, but Bastet kind as well- the accursed Ajaba.

He recalled how repulsed he was at the thought of such creatures gaining the glorious gift of shape changeing that should only be granted to those worthy. Surely not that plague bringing, fetid race.

But change they could, and for all his wisdom Shadowed Hunter could not understand why or for what purpose. Calash had a hand in their metamorphic ablilities to be certain, that had to be it. Although to be, as the lower shapechangers would call it-petty, he could hardly see why Celine would have need for any of the other races to be gifted with the ability of shape changing.

But these thoughts only served to muddle the mind and cloud the focus of finding the meager prey this "Great North American wilderness" could offer. bah! ----- (cont.d soon----)