On the ground, Zazu ruffled his feathers, disliking the slowed feeling, weighted by the raindrops.
Mufasa beckoned Zazu nearer with one paw. Zazu obeyed the gesture, high-stepping through the wet grass as the saturated ground softened to mud.
"Tuck in here," Mufasa said. Zazu withheld a squawk at the liberty. It was a clear order, and Zazu's service was the king's. Pressing his wings close against his sides, he made himself small between Mufasa's tall forelegs.
"A lion can keep the rain off, hmm?" Mufasa sounded amused. Then, more softly, as if aware that Zazu would appreciate a reason, he said, "Keep you dry so you can fly for me once this rain lets up. I'll need your report from the air."
"Of course, sire," Zazu answered. He watched the rain trickling from the king's own person, tawny fur and red mane darkening with the wet while Zazu's feathers dried.