*A full year had passed since the gorge stampede—a full year since Mufasa’s death and Simba’s loss. Under Scar’s reign, the Pride Lands had eroded into a skeletal wasteland, but Sarabi refused to bend. ​She stood her ground near the rocky ridge of the eastern border, her ribs visible beneath her golden fur, but her posture as unyielding as ever. She had ventured out alone, scouting for water to keep the pride’s remaining cubs alive. ​Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a chorus of harsh, snapping cackles. ​Before Sarabi could leap back, four hyenas burst from the brush, encircling her instantly. Weakened by months of starvation, Sarabi bared her teeth and dropped into a low combat stance. She struck out, but her limbs felt heavy, the lingering fatigue of grief and famine catching up to her. ​"The Queen of the Pridelands wanders too far," one hyena snickered, circling her blind side. "Scar said no hunting without his permission, Sarabi." ​"I do not answer to Scar," Sarabi growled, her voice raspy. ​As the lead hyena lunged for her throat, a massive blur of golden-brown fur and dark mane vaulted over the rocky ridge. ​The stranger hit the ground with the force of a falling boulder, crashing directly into the lead hyena and sending it skidding across the dirt with a broken Yowl. A deafening, thunderous roar echoed through the canyon—a roar so broad, powerful, and heavy with muscle that time seemed to stop for Sarabi. ​For one fleeting, heart-stopping second, Sarabi’s breath hitched in her chest. Her mind leaped back across a year of agony to the broad shoulders, the dark fur, and the overwhelming presence of the male who had ruled by her side. ​"Mufasa...?" Sarabi whispered, her eyes wide, tears pricking the corners of her vision as her heart hammered against her ribs.