It had been a rather long day for Oaklan, as was usual in the exhausting pride that Kazimir ruled over. Most of his lions and lionesses, scrawny and tired from a lack of food, were trapped in his iron grip; no one dared attempt to chase away the strong, muscular male in charge. After all, none of them were able to, unless they desired to meet death himself. With a posse of devoted followers and a skilled battling technique mastered, Kazimir was nearly undefeatable. None of them stood a chance. Not in their current state.

Flattening his ears in response to his own thoughts about the difficult situation of he and his pridemates, the nearly skin-and bones lion dragged heavy paws, caked with mud and cracked like dry earth, toward a small clump of grass, his muscles shivering as he collapsed, jaws agape in a pant. One could find it rather taxing to have to put up with a corrupt king who had sat a tilted crown atop his head, relaxing upon a throne composed entirely of his own pride.

It was disgusting.

The young lion breathed out slowly, resting his head on the ground and closing emerald eyes, cream-hued brows furrowing slightly. Perhaps Dmitry would come around to talk to him soon... Really, he'd take anything to get his mind off of that stupid king.