Euclid

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A low growl escaped the fanged beast, his hearing making up for what his eyes lacked. His beautiful red pelt glistened in the savannah sun, and a low whistle could be heard from the depths of the nearby cave. Should he enter, he'd be met with the cruel dictator that was Pythagoras--a king he couldn't stomach, a lion he could hardly consider noble nor fit enough to lead a pride like the such. He wouldn't dare say a word to him, though...Despite the male's small structure and laughable lack of intimidation, the air seemed to grow heavy whenever he was nearby (in more ways than just one).

He hated everything about the other. Euclid was far from a social butterfly, and he wasn't exactly the most friendly of lions in the pride...but his hatred was stronger than anything he'd ever felt with anyone. And, to make matters worse, Pythagoras had specifically chosen him to be his right-hand man ever since he'd "rescued" him from a stampede.

He'd rather die in a stampede than live under Pythagoras's rule.

Though, as a gentle purr became audible, and a small blue lion cooed up at the other, his hatred shifted away for just a moment. With a slow tilt of his large head, he bowed before the man...

To his surprise (or lack thereof), a tail was brushed against his face and dragged along his chin and jaw. Euclid twitched his nose ever-so-slightly, He couldn't help but grin as he was tugged into the king's den, being spoken to without hearing a word coming from the other's mouth...It was a toxic siren song---every word of propaganda escaping the other's mouth only sunk him deeper into the ocean.

He felt sick..if Euclid had known better, the feline would've run then and there and left to join another pride--what was the point of having so many male lions running around the waterhole anyhow? What was the point of making him feel so special among all of the other lions? What was the point of toying with his heartstrings like they were nothing but a disposable feather to increase the happiness of a lazed pride member?

But..when he felt the other's tongue gently adjust the fur on his misshapen pelt, he ducked his head, purred, and let it happen. He knew it was too good to be true, but..a part of him didn't want to believe it. They'd felt closer than he'd felt with any female in the entire pride, even if he knew the blue-colored lion was toxic and addicting..

Perhaps he could risk a few minutes more in the web of the male?