He stood watching the den where the pride lived. He was unsure of what to say to them about what he was going to do. But as he walked, the wind carressed his mane, as if speaking to him, and he understood what had to be done. Somehow he had always known, inherently, what this land needed. Surely this was why he was called the Great Spirit by those who'd known him.
This is part of the story of the Great Aiheu, one of the characters of my fanfic, who goes on to be the King of the Pridelands.
Should I continue???
