Thousand Yard Stare Zazu [upd] -
The torches of Pride Rock flickered, casting long, dancing shadows across the royal chamber. Simba, now a young king with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders, sat on the edge of the great stone dais. He wasn't looking at the stars. He was looking at his majordomo.
It was a stare that went through the cave wall, through the savannah, through the years. thousand yard stare zazu
"I looked into that distance for so many seasons that I forgot how to see anything close . When Rafiki found you had returned, I flew to the peak of Pride Rock to sound the alarm. But I couldn't. I opened my beak and nothing came out. Because for the first time in years, I had good news. And I no longer knew the sound of it." The torches of Pride Rock flickered, casting long,
Zazu looked at the darkness outside. "Is it." He was looking at his majordomo
Simba slid off the dais and padded closer. He'd seen that look before. In his own reflection, after his father fell. In Timon and Pumbaa, during the thunderstorm that nearly swept them over a waterfall. The old warthogs called it the "thousand-yard stare." It was the look of someone who had seen the other side of a very thin line.
The hornbill stood on his customary perch—a polished limb of acacia wood near the king's ear. His feathers, usually preened to a glossy blue-grey, were dull. His beak was shut. His eyes, usually darting—scanning the horizon for weather, for gossip, for trouble —were fixed on a point that did not exist.
Simba waited.