The Lion King 4 - Tarew's Story

The Death of A King

Echoes of paws thudding against the ground filled the central den of Pride Rock. They were forceful; they were angry. It was like a horde of rhinoceroses were creating a miniature earthquake, one that shook the walls and floors of the towering structure. Guards posted outside snapped their necks around in alarm, only to be faced with a dozen furious foes charging straight at them.

Tarew pushed his way to the sidelines of the striding crowd. They parted with difficulty, but he managed to squeeze his way past them onto the verge of the crowd. He hadn't realised how many lions were trapped down there, or how badly they'd been hurt from battle. He cringed as he witnessed lions with bruises on their arms, cuts across their thighs and gashes down their bodies. Some had large chunks of fur missing, which left an exposed area of skin at risk of disease. 

His eyes were fixed on them, he couldn't draw them away. Because of this, he found himself staring at them for a much longer time than he'd anticipated, but he managed to tear his sight away from the wounded allies and instead, he switched his focus to the set of stone steps at the back of the large den. Tarew was confused as to why, but he felt a sudden urge to ascend them, almost as if they were emitting a force that was drawing him to something that lay hidden upstairs. Still feeling a rush of freedom, he sprinted across the vine-strewn floor over to the uneven set of steps. 

Hardly any sunlight was getting into the den because of the vine-cover, which lead darkness to engulf the stairs as they loomed over him. He snarled, wanting to warn anyway anything that was hiding in the blackness. Still growling, he forcefully pushed his body forwards and charged up the cold stairwell, letting the shadows consume him too. He took sharp breaths between the fierce darts as his shoulder pain made his arm buckle once or twice. 

Once he reached the peak of the staircase, a familiar archway came into sight. The surrounding area was all-too-familiar to him. He hated it.

Tarew strode into the tiny rounded room as clouded light slid into the den. It made the figures inside appear to be moving, swaying slightly to the left then back to the right, making him feel nauseous. The atmosphere felt stale. The air was stuffy to breathe in, leaving an uncomfortable feeling to linger. As he looked, Tarew noticed that the den was slightly foggy; for some reason, it seemed to be tinted blue slightly. He turned his head so he could trace the outline of the chamber, only to stumble across a darker area towards the back wall. 

He traipsed forwards with pure determination in his soul. For every step he took, the grey patch molded itself more and more into a recognisable shape, a silhouette. Tarew squinted and stepped forward, hoping that he'd somehow be able to see the figure clearer. The haze in the air made it difficult, however, as he gained ground on it, he was just about able to distinguish it. 

An elderly lion sat facing the stone wall. It had a shaggy, unkempt mane of grey hair that was strewn all across his the back of his head and his front legs. Because of his age, the bones beneath his skin had started to become more visible, making his backbone more pronounced that it should've been. Wrinkles tightened around his body as he moved his front paw to the left slightly. It was frail, the movement was weak.  

"Turn around." Tarew spat. 

The elderly lion lifted his head a fraction but didn't do as he'd been instructed. He was still looking at the wall, still intentionally ignoring Tarew exactly the same as he'd done when the adolescent was a cub. 

"I said, turn around," he growled through gritted teeth.

This time, the senile big-cat stretched out his legs then pushed himself, using what little strength he had left in him, up off the cold sedimentary floor. Positioning his body so he was looking in Tarew's direction, but not actually facing him. It was only when Tarew's glares of pure fury came to his attention that he turned around fully, exposing his face in the dim light.