Chapter Text
Somewhere in Tsingy De Bemaraha
The sky above him began to darken, and Alex wasn’t sure if it was from an incoming storm or if the night approached. All around him was dense jungle or rocky outcroppings, obscuring any hint of the sun’s position. Regardless of the time of day or possible squalls, he needed sleep, as his body was weak from lack of sustenance. Either that, or weak from struggling to keep from drowning after falling down a waterfall. He was a lion of many talents, but swimming wasn’t one of them.
Pulling the last of missed cactus spines from his fur, he quickly began to scope the area for possible places to find shelter. Unlike the lemurs' favorite spots on the island, the area he had found himself was scary and foreboding, thick with vines, trees, and cliffs that seemed to become more and more prevalent the deeper he went. The further he ventured into the Malagasy rainforest, the more he wondered if he’d ever be able to find his way back. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t going back. The more lost he became, the better for himself and everyone he loved.
The brush of the jungle slowly transformed into miles of jagged rock, and the green of the leaves and trees began to disappear, making way for taller and taller spires of stones. While he walked, his paws felt the soil beneath him turn smooth, and transform into cold slabs of rock that briefly reminded him of the concrete flooring of his old apartment. Looking up and ahead, he found himself facing a natural quarry of tall, needle-sharp rocks made of limestone, as far as the eye could see.
In the midst of these obelisks, a big, rectangular boulder sat alone, surrounded by a cliff face that turned concave in towards it. Coming up next to it, he gently traced his claws over the face of the giant rock, one that strangely mirrored the one back at home. As he did this, he suddenly felt a strong sense of homesickness wash over him. He decided this is where he would make his shelter. The stones that lay scattered around were sizable enough to imitate bricks, and if he built them up, maybe he could make himself a small hut to stay in.
He was right, as the stones laid together quite well, so after some time he had built a low wall around “his” rock and a small shelter to the side that he had covered with large leaves for a makeshift roof. He’d have to wait to see how well it kept out rain. He really did hate water. At the thought of it, he felt his stomach churn, but quickly realized that it was not from his distaste of water, but rather from hunger.
Hunger.
What am I going to do? He thought frightened, after trying all day to suppress his hunger, he knew he couldn’t just wish it away. His body wanted to survive, and that meant eating. Eating other animals… He could barely complete that thought in his head. It was a lie, but he repeated to himself that he wasn’t that hungry, not yet. His stomach gurgled again, and this time it was borderline painful. No, no, no… He thought with dread. He couldn’t risk his instincts taking over again. He didn’t want to admit it, but he probably could find his way back to his friends if he really tried. He would be able to back track his path; sniff them out. He didn’t plan on trying, but he knew his hunger would definitely drive him to. Looking around, he realized the wall he had built around himself wasn’t high enough. Or sharp enough.
The end result was intimidating, but maybe that’s what he needed. After an hour or so, he had been able to carve sharp stakes out of the trees nearby, wedging them between the makeshift bricks of his now taller wall. Their spiked tips pointed inwards, enough to deter him if he considered escaping his new home. Home . The word echoed in his mind. As the time had passed, he had continually pushed the thought from his mind that this was most likely his permanent home. Instead of fixating on the fact that he’d never see his friends again, he instead only thought about how he needed to do this in order to protect them.
As he looked back at the large stone, he realized it was still missing something. The old rock back at the zoo had been adorned with a beautiful carving of a lion, standing on its hind legs, roaring like a king. He wasn’t a king anymore, but he was still a lion, painfully so. The rock face was difficult to carve into, but his newfound claws managed to scrape just deep enough to leave a mark. It was very crude, but eventually after a lot of clawing and scratching he was able to create an outline of what might look like a lion if one squinted. It’s not like his new home needed to be pretty anyhow. He didn’t deserve it to be.
With one swift leap, he pounced up onto the stage, just like it was old times. Perhaps starvation was making him hallucinate, but he could almost see all the people’s smiling faces and hear their adoring applause. Here, he will receive no love, but if he stands on his rock and shuts his eyes tightly enough, perhaps he can imagine things were just like they were. Of course, nothing but a wind’s howl, blowing through the rocky spires, is what reached his twitching ears.
He opened his eyes again, reluctantly, to find no fans but the vast expanse of limestone peaks and twisted trees. He huffed out a sigh of longing, letting his eyes wander across the horizon. In the distance, the stony peaks continued to jut into the sky haphazardly, mimicking skyscrapers of a city’s skyline, taunting him like a mockery of what he had lost. He turned his back to the scenery, and decided to face the cliff wall instead, wrapping his paws around his shoulders.
A gust came, one after another, sending shivers through his body. He knew his fur was not thick enough to protect himself from the rapidly cooling night, accustomed to his personal heater he was privileged at the zoo. He drew his body near to him, not sure if his tight grasp on himself was for warmth, or to comfort his newfound loneliness.
“Goodnight Ali-Al!” His imagination fabricated a whisper through the moaning wind, a voice that he would do anything to hear again. This is for them, for him, his mind repeated over and over again. They had a chance to live, to someday escape this island, as long as he stayed as far away from them as possible.
-
Tossing and turning wasn't helping sleep come any faster. His stomach was hurting too much; it was like an itch, deep within him and unsatisfied if he could not find meat. He really had tried so hard to eat grass, but it only made him do what eating grass made him normally do: vomit it all up.
He couldn't believe that his whole life he had spent deliciously gobbling up steak, was in reality the raw flesh of dead animals. The thought horrified him to his core. He had always eaten right in front of his friends, too. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that the people fed him that, knowingly.
His mind drifted back to when they had attempted to “rescue” Marty back at the train station, and how hesitant and strangely nervous all the people had acted. He hadn’t put the pieces together back then, as he couldn’t understand why they backed away from him almost fearfully, unresponsive when he explained the situation. Now he understood. They knew what he was. A monster, complete with fangs, sharp claws, and a ravenous appetite. Was that why he was so popular at the zoo compared to the others? The fact that he was a terrible beast, put on display like a museum piece? The awe and adoration he received had nothing to do with his supposed good looks, his charm, his dancing, or his mighty roaring. Of course it didn’t.
He hugged himself again, wishing that he could have been born a giraffe, a hippo, or a zebra, or heck, even a lemur. It didn’t matter as long as he didn’t have to be a lion. It hurt more knowing how much pride he used to take in being a lion; he loved his flowing mane and golden fur, his massive paws and elegant whiskers. He always thought he had a dazzling smile, enough that he always indulged the people who wanted to take a million and one pictures of him. Him and his smile, full of sharp teeth that he knew now were designed to kill.
Shutting his eyes tighter, he wished sleep would come quickly.