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Part Two:

"For the last time, Zimani. No, I am not going with you across the 'only half rotting!' fallen tree at the edge of the territory so you can explore The Unclaimed," Giza huffed, still drowsy from his freshly-disturbed nap.
"Besides," he sighed, yawning and blinking blearily, "there's a reason it's been called 'The Unclaimed' since any lion can remember."

"That's because everyone's too comfortable here!" Zimani exclaimed, pouncing on her guard's head.

"OOF!" Giza had to catch his bearings before he could get on his paws and shake the little cub out of his mane. "Yeah, Zimani. Everyone's comfortable, because we don't live around endless jagged rocks," he said, sitting up straight, "That's all The Unclaimed is," he added, looking down, unimpressed, at the cub.

"Oh...." Zimani's head drooped, but only for a moment before she had another fun idea, "Well then, let's go hunting in the red grass instead, huh? Huh??"

Giza had only opened his mouth before Zimani began to beg, "C'mon, pleeease? I'm almost old enough for my first real hunt, and you're so good at it! I betcha you could teach me sooo much!" The little cub was now bouncing up and down, excitedly trying to convince the older adolescent to accompany her.

"How about you do some sneaking practice around here first?" Giza suggested. Zimani's paw steps were quiet enough so far, but her impatience often rustled tall grass and gave her away.

Zimani frowned and furrowed her eyebrows. "I have been practicing sneaking. For days!"

"And you need to practice some more."

"Fine! I'll go hunting by myself!" Zimani said, defiantly, "When have I ever needed your protection, anyway," she asked, before stalking off towards the vast, red expanse.

Zimani crept low. That was one thing Giza always reminded her to do when she was hunting. Thanks to her clay-brown fur, the mouse she was stalking had hardly an inkling of her presence. The cub shifted her haunches back and forth. She could have sworn she heard an errant breeze behind her, but luckily, the wind was not blowing in her direction.

Shift, shift, Zimani tensed her paws, ready to strike...

Description

Part Two:

"For the last time, Zimani. No, I am not going with you across the 'only half rotting!' fallen tree at the edge of the territory so you can explore The Unclaimed," Giza huffed, still drowsy from his freshly-disturbed nap.
"Besides," he sighed, yawning and blinking blearily, "there's a reason it's been called 'The Unclaimed' since any lion can remember."

"That's because everyone's too comfortable here!" Zimani exclaimed, pouncing on her guard's head.

"OOF!" Giza had to catch his bearings before he could get on his paws and shake the little cub out of his mane. "Yeah, Zimani. Everyone's comfortable, because we don't live around endless jagged rocks," he said, sitting up straight, "That's all The Unclaimed is," he added, looking down, unimpressed, at the cub.

"Oh...." Zimani's head drooped, but only for a moment before she had another fun idea, "Well then, let's go hunting in the red grass instead, huh? Huh??"

Giza had only opened his mouth before Zimani began to beg, "C'mon, pleeease? I'm almost old enough for my first real hunt, and you're so good at it! I betcha you could teach me sooo much!" The little cub was now bouncing up and down, excitedly trying to convince the older adolescent to accompany her.

"How about you do some sneaking practice around here first?" Giza suggested. Zimani's paw steps were quiet enough so far, but her impatience often rustled tall grass and gave her away.

Zimani frowned and furrowed her eyebrows. "I have been practicing sneaking. For days!"

"And you need to practice some more."

"Fine! I'll go hunting by myself!" Zimani said, defiantly, "When have I ever needed your protection, anyway," she asked, before stalking off towards the vast, red expanse.

Zimani crept low. That was one thing Giza always reminded her to do when she was hunting. Thanks to her clay-brown fur, the mouse she was stalking had hardly an inkling of her presence. The cub shifted her haunches back and forth. She could have sworn she heard an errant breeze behind her, but luckily, the wind was not blowing in her direction.

Shift, shift, Zimani tensed her paws, ready to strike...