|This is my about my first TLK fanart... still my best pict and I love to look at it|
Being pushed aside all the time and constantly facing lions that would see in him nothing more than a damned breed by the devil itself, it was no doubt the lion felt far away from home. The silver lions were no more since a long time ago and there he stood, like as a remnant of what happen when a wealthy family takes the wrong turn.
Fujo was terribly adapted for a land where lush and green would flourish, the smaller male loved the desert and other places he wouldn’t feel like standing out of the scenery. Even in the gorges, red and grey against his light coat he felt terrible; like a decoy whose sole purpose is to protect ones that gave little care about his life and would be very little thankful of his sacrifice in return.
There was only little light in the prides: His mate he learned to love with time, Mohatu, the one king who allowed him to heal in his lands and Malaika, the Queen. Ever since the first time Mohatu’s guards found her by the borders he’d been struck by a strong inspiration to follow her lead and go back to border guarding. The Angel’s courage was for him something to behold and love. It gave him way for modest resilience. Little did he desire for revenge when he was young, way excessively traumatized to have the nerve to face the Red Demon once again. Now, as time passed by, that his violence had made him cross the line, that it had to humiliate him in front of the Queen, Fujo kept wondering what truly was holding him in the Pridelands. Such passion in his work that his yellow sclera turned red from out of tire, that his body threatened to catch a deadly sickness.
Was it death wishes or something else?