Funny how the statement of 'everybody has a niche to fill' was such a true statement. All creatures of the savannah had their places to be, and it seemed that his companion had found one for him to be in.
A place as murky in color as his own coat. At least as compared to the bright coats of the savannah. But there were no crimes with the color of his body in this swamp he'd been brought to. There were no crimes of it's own beauty either. The more he'd gotten 'to know' the landscape of it, bordering curiousity and mental conversation with something he knew fully well wouldn't be honoring him with a return of conversation, but allowing his curiousity to fish.
And also being wise enough to follow the ways of the female who had been born into the pride as she had made her appearence, waiting until all formalities involving her return had been played out, to find a place to settle in.
To wait.
He knew nothing of whom to approach of his pride. Or rather he did know a thing or two of it, but his poor burned eyes were unable to see names looming over the heads of those whom he had seen, now and then, about the pride.
So he'd waited, simply waiting and watching with a form of fascination.
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