Scar tiptoed out of the cave on quiet, muted paws to survey his kingdom. By doing this, he wasn't sure, exactly, what to expect. The pastures were no greener than his last visit, and indeed, as he looked out upon the Pridelands, he sensed that affairs were only getting worse. Before, many subtle shades of brown had crept, stealthily, into the field... like a blight or a virus that couldn't be contained. But now those gentle baby hues were darkening, leaving ugly streaks of stark black and putrid gray to mar the once verdant green of the his brother's former kingdom. There were still some patches of healthy vegetation and crystal waters, to be sure...
But none, including him, could be sure of how long that would keep up.
His claws clicked almost silently on the harsh, barren stone. To say that he was unconcerned about his kingdom - his kingdom - would be something of a lie. However, he did have appearances to keep up, subjects to rule over, a composure to keep... and at the end of the day, he couldn't control something as petty and capricious as the weather.
... Still, though... that shade of gray...
He closed his lemon-lime eyes, hoping that that would help to suppress the odd twinge in his gut that said that maybe, just maybe... he deserved this.
It didn't. His eyes snapped open.
The thought of divine punishment did not soothe him in the least bit. He knew that, if any were to be punished, it deserved to be him... he was at fault for what he did, and nobody - save a few hyenas - knew about the dirty crimes that littered his soiled past. Killing his brother was just one, albeit a particularly sordid one, amongst many.
It took him a moment to realize that his hackles had been bristling. He felt it as a hot flush that had swam up his spine and to his face, making his coat sweaty and somewhat matted and prickly.
The king Scar felt dirty... and not just because his oily fur had been unduly and uncharacteristically neglected over the past few days.
He stared off another moment, before finally shaking himself out of his reveries. Indeed, he'd never been much of a spiritual lion - why should he have been, after all? - and so even though the distant threat of his brother's vengeance viscerally pricked at him, a tangible reminder of his guilt, there was simply no reason to believe that any of this was so. His anxieties, he finally told himself, were unfounded. He had not been caught for his crimes, and so long as this were true, there was no reason to expect punishment for them. All he had to do was, simply, to keep up appearances.
Yes, to keep up appearances, to keep up appearances...
He straightened out his slumped posture and decided to attend to his coat, at long last. Worrying could wait for another day. At this point, now, it was simply a matter of keeping and extending his control over the surrounding lands... And, of course, keeping up the facade he had so carefully kept around himself.
He sauntered coolly back into the cave, determined not to let his emotions show. Usually he did a pretty good job of that. But that didn't, however, keep one last prick from assailing his secretly- and perennially-troubled mind.
For even though Scar was the king... he was not a content king.
That much would never be denied, even by him...