It is later that night that Violarum emerges from his chosen recovery quarters to resume the task of scent marking the borders. He had staked his claim upon an old tree he used to nap under, but couldn't bring himself to return the den he and Fallon once shared with their children - not until his obsessive spraying had faded and drowned out their lingering aroma.

So, he would take to Anniston's way of sleeping under the stars until then. But for now, the reinstated King wandered with a slow limp from the center of the pride towards it's outer edges. _{— code}

Orson would have also been sleeping beneath the stars that night had their home not been so inundated with stench. The scent of the usurpers seemed to cling to every last blade of grass that grew within Lorien Plains. There was much work to be done, and Orson intended to play his part.

He’d stopped at a familiar stream the meandered through the grasslands to fill his belly with the water he needed to keep the urine flowing. It was going to take a lot of it to cover up the reek that Aeistrios and his bitches has left all over this place. Orson was just returning from reinforcing the scent markers around a particular favorite boulder of his when he ran into @Violarum himself. The King was limping slightly but appeared just as mighty as ever. Orson paused, then greeted him with a respectful dip of his head.

Sire, he rumbled, it’s good to be home.

The coolness of night is welcomed upon the warm sting of shifting wounds, skin prickling and tugging at scabs as the umber lion walked with a slow, easy purpose. It felt a little odd to be alone in that moment, having had challenged the former invader partially for daring to hold his daughter (and beat up her boyfriend), and partially because he felt it's what they had wanted.

@Orson was one of them, he realises. Not direct family, but he'd been around long enough that he'd grown to be. So, this time his greeting to the battle-victorious youngster is not the usual puff of pride and an effort to appear larger than he was; but a casual easiness that compelled affection. Violarum's stride wavered just enough, a sweeping gait diverting him so informally - just close enough to swipe his bloodied forehead under the young males chin and continue on his way.

Yet, instead of agreeing in the verbal manner with his statement of truth, Violarums neck stretches outwards as he walks toward the border, expecting his company to follow, and let out yet another long and low roar of victory. This land was theirs again, as it should have stayed. _{— code}

Orson accepted the companionable gesture from Violarum, noting the dried stains that still remained about his forehead like a bloody crown. It seemed suitable, Orson thought grimly, for it seemed that no ruler in this vast lands could ever hope to take his throne without the spilling of blood. He had once resisted the idea, but Orson had grown to realize the way of this world. He had even contributed to the bloodiness on that victorious day, sending Hexa away from Lorien on three legs.

It felt good to take his revenge, though a part of Orson still remained uneasy. He detested his youthful inexperience, and secretly resented the fact that he relied upon Violarum to take back Lorien Plains, unable to defeat The Big Purple Guy on his own. But strength, Orson tried to convince himself, did not just lie within oneself but in the friends and kin who were willing to stand with them. And Orson's clan was strong.

He fell in stride with Violarum at the older lion's wordless implication. Though younger, Orson nearly matched Violarum in stature as they walked in rhythm with each other's steps. The young adult's massive frame was propelled by long, sinewy legs that lent a sway to his body with each step. Jowls parted as the King let out a mighty roar, and Orson let the sound ring out before lending his own voice to the victorious declaration.

There was silence in the wake of their calls, as all the savannah around them fell quiet to their roars. Orson walked on beside Violarum, and after a while he spoke up. I'd like to serve as the pride's Lead Hunter again. He said. His request was not commanding to the more dominant lion, though it still held the confidence that came from their camaraderie and his assurance that he deserved the rank. Orson awaited the king's reply.

Never one to know when to stop, @Orson's mirrored roar of victory only encourages the King more so; letting out a series of long and low bellows as the two males commanded leadership across The Plains. He even picked up a brief, languid jog, as if to chase his voice further into the twilight - echoing his claim across the glittery stars.

"Is that all?" he asks with a briefly raised brow, slowing back to an easy limp, aiming a playful cuff of a paw at the dark youngsters shoulder. "I thought you'd be at least... Noble," something more worthy of bragging about. _{— code}

It was Orson's turn to cock a brow at the older lion's suggestion. "But sir, hunting is my trade," he protested, "it's what I do best..." Orson had adopted a certain humility since losing his position as Prince so long ago. He had begun to question all these titles and pride politics - what did it all mean, anyways? It all seemed so ephemeral, as time and time again prides changed hands and ranks were stripped.

"I don't know... Vio..." Orson hesitated as he tried out the shortened, more casual version of the newly crowned King's name, as if he was unsure if they were on that level. But @Violarum's attitude seemed friendly and playful and it put Orson at ease. "But I'll do whatever you think is best for the pride." Orson said with a nod of affirmation. He was just happy to finally be home.

As their enthusiasm faded in the wake of @Orson's uncertainty, Violarum eased back to a limp-jawed walk - feeling the sting of healing wounds as heat prickled at their edges. He didn't care for ranks beyond King either. Back when he was a part of Ecrosia he had fought his way up into Sovereign just for the sake of showing off in all honesty.

So, he is easily influenced by his young friends dedication, and instead forgets all talk of noble-men, nodding with an assertive chuff. "You will be Lead Hunter for now," and as if the thought of food made his belly rumble, the male dismissed him, "We should see what's left to eat around here."

-- exit _{— code}

Orson nodded dutifully, puffing out his chest with pride at the assignment of the rank he had previously held. Perhaps it was not royalty but it had brought him great pride nonetheless, and it would again now. Back then, they had been elephant hunters and Orson would see to it that the pride was restored to its former glory.

He trailed after Violarum with enthusiasm, eager to begin his scouting of Lorien's resident herds, to assess the damage that had been done by that fat purple loser and his bitches. Hopefully they had not chased out the herds with their greed and gluttony. Orson wasn't terribly worried. The Plains were known for their rich grasses, and no grazer would stay away for long.

[exit]