Ill-Natured Saint

NightStalk prowled through his camp, his limbs flexing as he moved. Nobody dared to stand in his way, lionesses and lions stood by cowardly, afraid to meet his gaze. The narrowed eyed glance of his sent shivers down any feline’s spine. It was safe to say the entire clan respected their leader, which of whom was ruthless enough to keep them in check. But what no one could say aloud is that: everyone feared him. To the way he mercilessly chased away lions or how he fought any trespasser that happened to step foot in their lands. NightStalk, despite his bright orange appearance, was not someone you’d want to cross. God forbid you get on his bad side… A tired young lion trailed behind him, fresh wounds afresh his skin. It seems they were out in a training lesson. The teenage lion returning with wounds that almost seemed intentionally put in place, to match NightStalk’s scars. Many pitied the young trainee, others ignorantly tilted their head away, pretending not to notice. You couldn’t blame them.