It was fat.
It was slimy.
It was fat.
It was his.
Kivuli inched forward through the long swamp grass, his ears laid back against his bright blonde mane, his paws carefully drifting over the damp ground of the swamps. His breathing was level, quiet, and controlled. He wasn't the best hunter, nor the most cunning but he figured if he worked at it hard enough- he could be! It was better than sitting around collecting moss on his backside listening to his aunt ramble on about the demon-stupids that lived outside of the pride's territory.
As far as he was concerned- anyone outside of their pride was a stupid. He'd heard far too many stories from hsi aunt to take anyone on the outside seriously. That, sadly, would be a bit of a problem when he was old enough to seek out his new name.
For now- he was the frog master.
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