The King stirs, readying himself for the nightly patrol. He wraps himself in the cloak of darkness, striding out towards the boundaries of his pride lands. Others who call the savannah home catch flashing glimpses of him, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. His form appears for a split second before melting into the shadow once again. //
He never fears to walk alone. He doesn't count the herd that are about him, nor ponders on how many animals he could scatter. He is the master of his own environment. There's no fiction in his world: he's the real Night King.
