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"Stop right there," Scar said pleasantly, standing between Grian and the exit from the cave, and Grian froze. His palms were sweaty where he held his knife, pointlessly, because if Scar attacked him a knife wouldn't do the slightest bit of damage. "That's right, that's wonderful, you just hold still where you're trespassing in my perfectly nice territory— you're getting your scent all over my den."
Scar sounded ragged, a feline growl at the edges of his voice. Grian made himself meet his eyes, now a shockingly pale amber, and stood as straight as he could, fluffing up his feathers to look even larger. Lions were ambush predators, and were-lions had a lot of the same instincts. So glancing away right now could be deadly, really. In the same way that trespassing and cornering himself where he couldn't fly away could be deadly, actually, but Grian wasn't going to think too closely about that.
There were new scars on Scar's body, his arms and his neck and his face. Pink and mostly healed, some a little bit inflamed. Grian wasn't sure whether he'd run away from his pride or been finally forced out, but whatever it'd been, it couldn't have gone well. Scar's pride leader had never been gentle with any of the cubs.
"And here I thought you liked how I smelled," Grian said. "You certainly pounced on me often enough, before you hared off to the middle of nowhere without so much as a by-your-leave. I thought you'd at least send a postcard, Scar."
"Oh, you know how it is, you get out into the savanna and the mailmen start carrying firearms," Scar said. His eyes were wide, pupils wider. His cheekbones stood out starkly, enough to make Grian feel sick. "And really, I just never got around to it? Never any time to sit down and write these days. I'm— I'm quite the busy man, Grian, there's lots on my agenda."
"I like the moss," Grian offered. "I'm afraid I can't quite get on board with sleeping on it, but it's good decoration."
"Yeah, I wanted to make it cozy in here," Scar said. "Hang up some glowberries, scavenge some lanterns… we have amazing storms here this time of year, just killer thunderstorms. I keep thinking the wind will pick me up and blow me far away."
He stepped closer, so silent that Grian almost flinched on realizing he was moving. Scar's stepfather was someone Grian hadn't seen in human form much, so Grian couldn't be sure how much Scar resembled him right now, but it was the same predatory grace, power concentrated in muscles that could rip a head off a neck. The same focused, unsettling brightness.
"Have you been alone out here since you turned?" Grian's voice came out small.
"I was with the pride for a while, before I left," Scar said, waving a hand. "I can hunt, so yeah, I'm not hopeless? Antelopes flee from me in trembling terror. Harrowing— horror. I have to kill them before I start eating."
Grian remembered Scar scooping a baby bird into his hands to place it back in a nest. A human with yellow-green eyes, still being assessed for worth, because were-prides could be vicious with cubs who didn't carry the leader's genes, and a parrot he'd recruited to help him scout out injured animals. Scar liked to take them to refuges, to nurse them back to health.
There was a half-eaten ribcage outside of the den, rank and covered in flies. That was fine, probably. Scar did eat meat, occasionally, and he had to know how nature worked, he didn't have a choice there.
He'd used to talk wistfully about being vegetarian, though.
"I'm sorry," Grian said. The lump in his throat grew. "Scar, I'm so sorry."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Grian's best friend said, voice cracking, and he was too thin and his scars clearly weren't really trying to heal. Grian showed Scar the knife and slipped it into its sheath again, barely flinched when Scar surged forward to bury his face in Grian's shoulder.
Scar's breath caught. His shoulders shook, which meant he was crying silently, because his family had taught him never to cry out loud. Grian pulled him in and tried to hug him with his wings.