“Scar, are you listening?” Mufasa asked. Scar rolled his eyes. “Yes brother, of course.” He mumbled to himself. “I couldn’t ignore it if I tried…”

“What?” “Nothing, continue.” Mufasa nodded. “Simba is on his way to becoming King, and…"

Scar couldn’t hear the rest. At the mention of the cub’s name, his heart welled up with hatred. Because of that wretched cub, he would certainly never live to be king.

“And Zazu said….” Scar could barely hear Mufasa. It didn’t matter, it’s not like he cared.

When it seemed Mufasa had finished, Scar rose from his laying position. “Well Mufasa, thanks for the news, now if you will excuse me, I will be off to the Water Hole.” He said grumpily. He walked off, not waiting for Mufasa to answer.

He bent down near the cool water and took a drink, thinking to himself about his brother and nephew. First Ahadi chooses Mufasa to be king, then the little fur ball comes along and I’m moved down a peg.

“Hey Uncle Scar!” Scar groaned and forced a smile. “Hello there young Simba! What have you been doing today?” he asked, trying to sound exited. It was obvious to tell he wasn’t, but Simba didn’t notice.

“I haven’t done much of anything today; I was hoping you could take me somewhere!” Simba cried hopefully.

Scar laughed. “Young Simba, I really would love to, I really would, but unfortunately, I have much to do today.”

Simba flattened his ears. “Aw man, please Uncle Scar?” “Sorry Simba, but I must be leaving, maybe tomorrow.”

“Finally, it seems I can never get him away from me.”

The antelope grazed in the fields, completely unaware of the danger that lay near.

One raised its head and sounded an alarm call. The herd ran just as a large lioness burst out of the bushes.

Her eyes were burning, she hadn’t eaten in days. I mustn’t let them get away! The lioness thought to herself.

She jumped and roared, landing on ones back. She bit its throat and it silently fell to the ground.

The lioness panted from the effort of catching her kill alone. She sank her teeth into its chest and swallowed a chunk of meat.

Her ears flicked as she heard a noise behind her. She growled and turned just as a dark male was walking past.

She unsheathed her claws.

Scar was slowly walking back to Pride Rock. He was thinking to himself yet again about Simba being king instead of him, the rightful king.

On his way back, he had smelled the scent of fresh meat. As he turned his head, he saw a lone lioness, ready to attack if he tried to steal her meal.

Scar stared. He wasn’t sure what, but something about this lioness caught his eye. He thought about walking over, after considering her readiness to attack, he sat down in that same place.

The lioness eyed him wearily, “I am called Zira.” She lay down and licked her paw, though she kept one eye on him. “And who might you be?”

Scar took a few steps forward, and stopped when Zira got ready to pounce. “I am Scar,” he turned to Pride Rock. “Therightful king of this land.”

Zira had to admit, this lion was handsome. “Rightful king? What do you mean by that?” Zira questioned.

“My brother Mufasa was chosen to be king instead of me, I was second in line, until he had his cub Simba.”Scar said Simba with a voice filled with pure hatred.

Scar laughed. “I love your idea, believe me I’ve tried, it is harder then what you might think.”

Zira laughed. She liked Scar, in a way she never knew before. This time when Scar took a step forward, Zira let him.

Scar liked Zira. She had a way of handling things that reminded him of himself. He walked over and laid down about two feet away from her. “So what is a pretty little lioness like you doing alone in the Pridelands?” he asked with a smile.

Zira grinned. “I find pride life boring and dull.” She said. “I need to be able to fight for my own survival, not knowing if I am going to starve to death or not.”

Scar laughed. “Zira,” he said, still chuckling, “You remind me of a younger version of myself.”