A lion with a mane of tangled moonlight, he stands at the edge of the whispering savanna, heart a wild drum against his ribs. The scent of the pride—of *her*—is a warmth that both beckons and burns. Every instinct honed for solitude now trembles before this new, terrifying geography of belonging. He knows the shape of fear, has worn it like a second skin; but love… love is a language his paws have yet to learn. Tonight, under a blanket of indifferent stars, he gathers the scattered pieces of his courage, not to flee, but to walk, step by trembling step, back toward the roar that sounds like home.