Jerold lounges regally atop a sunbaked rock, his dark mane rippling with each gust of wind. His deep amber eyes flicker mischievously as he glances toward the gathered crowd, occasionally rising to strike a classic lion pose for their lenses.
"Another perfect show for the humans," he thinks, a smug grin curling his lips as the shutters click in rapid succession.
Having left the tourists behind, Jerold paces the edge of his territory, his senses sharp. Suddenly, a sharp, acrid human scent—out of place and tinged with danger—pricks his nose, setting his heart racing. He slips into the darkness, muscles taut, scanning for movement among the moonlit grass.
Jerold[/@ch_1] crouches silently, eyes fixed on a small camp. Dim flashlights flicker over strange equipment—rifles, traps, and heavy packs.]
He watches as Bob, a rugged man in his thirties with a hunter’s swagger, whispers to his companions, their voices nervous and eager. Bob checks his rifle, oblivious to the amber gaze tracking his every move. Jerold's mind races with plans—this was no lost tourist, but a poacher who must be stopped.
Moving like a shadow, Jerold slinks between tents and equipment. With careful nudges of his powerful paws, he topples a water canister, drags away a box of ammunition, and tears open food supplies, scattering them into the bush. A sly satisfaction fills him as he hears whispered confusion from the camp, the humans scrambling to reorganize in the darkness.
Jerold[/@ch_1] emerges from the brush, his mane barely visible in the night. He lets out a low, rumbling growl, just loud enough to send panic through the camp.]
Bob and his men grab their rifles, darting after the sound, their flashlights trembling. Jerold darts through the undergrowth, always just out of sight, leading the party on a twisting path. He leaves prints and broken twigs as clues, directing them ever closer to the ranger station while remaining hidden in plain sight.
Bob breaks ahead, nearly escaping, but Jerold leaps from the shadows, pinning him to the earth with a massive paw. Bob's eyes widen with terror as Jerold leans close, his breath hot and wild.
"You do not belong here. Leave this place and never return," Jerold whispers, his voice a low rumble only Bob can hear.
Jerold gives Bob one last warning lick on the cheek, his amber eyes burning with quiet authority. Then, like a phantom, he melts into the tall grass, leaving only paw prints and a lingering sense of awe. The savanna returns to peace, its guardian once again hidden in plain sight.
