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For the first time in his life, Mufasa feels utterly, unfathomably small.
It shouldn’t be as strange a feeling as it is. Growing up in the vastness of the Pridelands has made Mufasa constantly aware of his size: ducking and hiding from elephant feet that could crush him in one go; staring out at the rolling expanse of the savannah from the top of Pride Rock; always hearing his parents’ voices from above, as if they’re coming from the sky itself.
But here — under the inky black of a cloudless sky, great purple shapes coiling like lazy eddies around each other, with a distant blue-grey gash running across the middle, its edges seeping into the dark around it, and the stars — so many stars, endless and uncountable and stretching into nothing — Mufasa feels the weight of his existence shrinking into one tiny, blinking point.
There are so many stars.
“Good view, huh?”
The familiar rumble of Dad’s voice yanks Mufasa back to the grass he’s sitting on. He lets out a long breath, extending and retracting his claws to remind himself of the earth beneath his feet.
“Yeah.”
Someone gives him a lick behind the ear, and he stiffens, before realising he’s sitting between Mama’s legs, and she’s here too — they’re both here, with him — and he nestles slightly closer to the soft warmth of her leg.
Mama chuckles gently. “You nearly got lost in those stars.”
Mufasa gazes out at the horizon, where the remnants of the day are still peeking out over the edge of the plain. A thin line of violet. “They’re so… much. There’s so many of them, and just one of me. It’s so— it’s so—“
“Incredible?”
“Incomprehensible?”
“… Scary.”
Dad turns to look at him, now. Mufasa doesn’t know if the softness in his gaze is just a trick of the starlight. “You’re scared?”
Mufasa nods, and presses closer to Mama. She gives his ear another lick, and he tries to focus his senses on the dampness of her tongue on his ear, the warmth of her leg against his side, her pelt next to his.
Still, the stars linger.
Dad keeps his gaze on Mufasa for a long moment, then moves to look up, probably at Mama — they have this way of communicating through looks that Mufasa never understands — and seems to get an answer for whatever his silent question was, because he turns back to the sky, and speaks.
“These stars have been here since before the Pridelands existed. No one can reach them, not the tallest giraffe, or the highest-flying bird, not even if they were reaching out from the top of Pride Rock. Always there, untouched. Our bodies will become grass, and these stars will stay.”
Dad’s words hang in the space around them.
“It makes you feel lonely, doesn’t it?” He’s so quiet that Mufasa has to strain to hear him. “It makes me feel lonely.”
“But you’re—“
“Only a lion, Mufasa. Just like you. Only one part of all… this.” He gestures with his head to their surroundings.
“But if you’re a part of it,” Mama whispers above him, “It means you’re never — really — alone.”
Mufasa squints. “How can I be a part of them if they’re all the way up there?”
Dad huffs gently. “You have to look at them to understand.”
Mufasa swallows, steels himself, and looks from his father up, up, up to the infinity that surrounds them.
“My father told me this, when I was your age. It stuck with me my whole life.”
He’s a part of this, somehow.
“The Great Kings of the past look down on us from those stars.”
Whatever this is, stretching past the light, past his lifetime.
“So whenever you feel alone…”
It’s as real as the dirt beneath his paws. As Dad and Mama beside him. As real as the line of rulers that, as the Circle turned, somehow unfurled into him.
“Remember that they will always be there to guide you.”
Mama’s warmth. Dad’s smile. Something— someone—
“And so will we.”
Mufasa stares, his eyes widening in awe, and begins to understand.
Something bright flashes across the sky.
“Star-hawk!”
Mufasa yelps. Dad turns excitedly to him.
“D’you see it?”
“I— yeah,” Mufasa says, blinking rapidly. “Saw it.”
Mama leans forward. Her breath tickles the top of his head. “Make a wish.”
Mufasa squeezes his eyes shut, and scrunches his muzzle. What is his wish?
To get big and strong, maybe. Or to be a good King. Or— or—
I don’t want to be alone.
“What did you wish for?”
Mufasa stares at his paws. His ears flatten. “Um—“ He mumbles to the ground, sheepish. “Maybe a sibling. Or something.”
Dad’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his mane. Another indecipherable look passes between him and Mama.
“Well,“ Mama says, her voice higher than normal, “We, er — we weren’t going to tell you about — at least, not now. But…”
Even in the dark, only seeing the corner of his muzzle, Mufasa can make out the bend of a smile on Dad’s face.