Ghost Lion Crag don't worry about him, he's getting fired in the morning.

The sun was peeking into the small crevice that made the opening to the lion's makeshift den. It was shining upon his face in a sliver that stretched from his temple, across his right eye and down to the corner of his mouth. It hadn't bothered him at first, but the brighter the sun shone, the more of a nuisance it became. It eventually became enough to wake him, and then came the worst part of the day.

Living.

Artaax pulled himself to all fours with a reluctant moan, shoving aside a few discarded bones from the old cat he'd had to kill in order to claim this place. It had been a lynx or a bobcat or something - small and aged. It had crawled into this cave to die and yet had still put up a fight when he'd come to steal that right from it. It had wounded him, but lunacy had driven him to tend his wound and keep it from infection. In retrospect, that had been idiotic. He should've let it fester and kill him. Hell, he should've let the cat kill him. But for some reason, luck kept abandoning him and he kept being compelled to survive. It was seriously the fucking worst.

He stepped into the sunlight and blinked at his surroundings. Cliffs, rocks, and sharp, jutting scrub littered the small valley that he had decided to claim. It was not a pretty sight, but he had never required his surroundings to be aesthetically pleasing before, so why start now when he cared about nothing anymore? He didn't feel hunger anymore, but stepped over to where he had toss the cat's carcass to grab a few mouthfuls anyway. There was hardly anything more than a few ragged scraps left. He'd been sating himself on this kill for days now and apparently it had given all there was to give. That was fine. Maybe he could starve to death now.

He probably wouldn't be lucky enough to do so.

The lion abandoned it and began to pick his way down the rocky labyrinth towards a stream that ran through his little slice of heaven down from the mountains that towered around him.  With each step, he hoped to slip and fall and break his body in some hole or another, but no such luck. He made it in one piece to level ground and closed the remaining distance to the stream where he stopped beneath a gnarled, withered tree and dropped his head to slake his thirst. He hoped perhaps he would accidentally lap up a fish bone that would puncture his throat when he swallowed it and he could fall into the water and bleed out. Again, no such luck.

Artaax dropped then beneath the tree upon the cold, hard, uncomfortable ground and stared off into the distance. He had no will to return to his cave, little as he liked the warm feeling of sun on his fur. He had no will to do anything but lie there and wait for the end to come.

Last lesson.

The lion groaned and shut his eyes. He really had no luck whatsoever.