Great, he’d made her cry. Not that she didn’t deserve it after she had made him do the same but part of him couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Timon could hear Pumbaa’s scolding now, how he couldn’t just leave her and had to take, ugh, ‘responsibility’. He rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The berry she had thrown and successfully hit in the face with failed to make him look any more enthused as he moved closer.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothin’ I ain’t said before.” He told her and gently poked at the arm she no longer appeared to be using. “Are you hurt? I mean, can you move this?” He felt the need to clarify to because, at the moment, he really didn’t care to hear how she felt. Scared, angry, sad, it was bound to be one of the three. She didn’t appear to have any trouble voicing her frustration anyway. He frowned at the sight of her misshapen wing, knowing for a fact it would slow her down, if she could even still fly with it. What was he supposed to do about that?

All he wanted was something to eat, was that really too much to ask for?