CHAPTER 52:  GOING NATIVE

	"Awright, Simba.  Ya ready?"
	The lion nodded and raised a forepaw.
	"Okay."  Timon squinted his eyes to slits, and Pumbaa did 
likewise.  "Three...two...one...GO!!"
	The heavy paw swung down, slamming into the rotten wood and 
sending splinters flying in a spectacular detonation.  Insects and grubs 
of all kinds sprayed through the air, falling upon the heads of the 
three companions in a bizarre rainshower as Timon hooted with obvious 
delight.  "WAHOO!  You hit a gusher, Simba!"
	"Thanks."  The lion grinned at his friend as Timon waded in.  
"Geez!  Leave some for me, willya?!"  Simba pounced forward and snuffled 
up a mouthful of the squirmy bugs, chewing with relish.
	"Me?!"  Timon planted his hands on his hips in righteous 
indignation.  "Look at you, big mouth!  This from a guy who eats a whole 
nest of termites and comes back asking for seconds!"
	Pumbaa snorted and lifted his head.  "Reawwy guys," he said, 
chewing around a mouthful of chittering beetles, "it's impowite to tawk 
wif your mouf full."
	Timon wiped saliva from his face busily.  "Thanks Mom," he shot 
back.  "Do you serve towels with your showers?"  He picked the remains 
of a half eaten beetle from his face, then popped it in his mouth and 
chewed thoughtfully. "Hmmm....not bad."
	"Timon?"
	"Yeah, Pumbaa?"
	"What's a shower?"
	"Something you only take when it rains."
	"Cool it, guys!"  Simba lifted his head and sniffed warily, 
nostrils twitching in agitation.  "I smell something funny."
	Pumbaa blushed and lowered his head.  "Sorry."
	"Not you.  This smells great!"
	"Hey!"  Pumbaa grunted indignantly.  "It's not MY fault--"
	"Shhhh!  Concentrate."  Simba turned and paced slowly around for a 
minute, scenting the wind.  "This way.  C'mon!"  He padded off into the 
dense jungle, the swish and swaying of small branches the only sound of 
his passing.  Warthog and meerkat looked at each other uncertainly, then 
followed. 
	Simba pushed quietly through the undergrowth, pausing every now 
and again to scent at the air.  The smell was tantalizing, filling his 
head with tingles of pleasure.  Gods, the scent was alluring!  It seemed 
so strange...and yet familiar all at once.  Like...like...
	Simba stopped again, sniffing deeply of the air as Timon looked at 
him curiously.  "What's WITH you, kid?"
	"Can't you smell it?"
	Timon sniffed.  "Ech.  Smells like a brushfire."
	The thought sparked something in Simba's mind, but he couldn't 
quite place it.  "Never mind.  Let's go."
	The three wended their way among the ferns for a few more minutes, 
the scent steadily increasing as they went.  Timon perched precariously 
atop Pumbaa's head as they followed, straining to see ahaead, but the 
only thing he was permitted to see was the lazily waving tip of the 
lion's tail ahead.  He sighed and rested his chin in his hands, 
grumbling.
	Simba came to an abrupt stop, and Pumbaa scrambled to avoid 
collision.  Timon, caught unawares, sailed from atop the warthog's head 
to smack solidly against Simba's rump, bouncing to the ground in an 
ungainly heap.
	"Hey!  Why don't you watch where you're goin'--"
	"SHHH!"  Simba peered ahead.  The plants were thinning slightly, 
and he saw a faint glow from ahead.  The scent was stronger than ever.  
"Check it out, guys."
	The three crept closer, stopping at the edge of a clearing.  Timon 
and Pumbaa peered agitatedly at the sight before them, unaware of their 
companion's rapture.
	A small area of the jungle had been cleared to the dirt, the soft 
loam of the forest scraped aside to the hard dirt underneath.  A strange 
hedge of sorts ringed the clearing, odd for the fact hat it appeared to 
be made of dead limbs and sticks rather than live plants.  Peeking 
through the holes in the hedge, the three saw the twisting and writhing 
shape of an enormous bonfire in the center of the clearing.  Around it 
stood what appeared to be large bushes made of the same dead sticks.  
And around the fire paced strange animals of a type that Simba had seen 
only rarely.  They reminded him of monkeys, somehow, what with the way 
they walked on their hind legs, but the funny thing was their skin.  
Simba snickered in spite of himself.  "Lookit that, fellas.  They don't 
have any hair!"
	"Like they need it," groused Timon.  "Those are people, Simba, 
remember?  I told you about people.  They're as noisy as badgers and 
twice as mean.  We better get outa here."
	"Oh, man," Simba breathed.  He had spotted the source of the 
scent.  Over the fire stood a couple of sticks, and on them was perched 
an enormous antelope, sizzling and spitting in the flames.  His tongue 
rolled out and he licked his lips slowly, never taking his eyes from the 
meat.  "Oh gods, I would give my whiskers for a taste of that."
	Pumbaa shook his head, then glanced to one side, where the humans 
were hoisting up another animal by the hind legs to cook.  His eyes 
widened in horror as he saw the tusks of a warthog protruding from the 
snout.  "Yeesh!  I'm outta here!"
	"No, wait."  Simba licked a forepaw and slicked back the fringe of 
mane on his head and shoulders.  "I want to make a good first 
impression."
	"Are you crazy?" Timon said.  "They'll hang you right next to the 
pig."
	"I don't see how.  I'm stronger and I'm faster.  And all I want is 
the meat.  They won't follow us to get it back."
	He roared fiercely and strode forward, splintering the wood boma 
as he shouldered his way through.  A second roar sent the humans 
running, jabbering excitedly as they ran into their huts.  
	"Hey, that was easy enough!  Come on, fellows!  Let's eat!"  Simba 
padded over to the fire, wincing at the heat, and peered upwards, 
wondering how to get the antelope down.  Glancing about, he saw the 
gleam of the firelight from the eyes of the people hidden in the huts 
and grinned.
	His grin faded as they emerged, the light now glinting off the 
tips of spears, all pointed at him. "Uh oh!"
	The lion turned and bolted, rear paws spurting up dirt as he ran 
for the hole in the boma.  A whirring sound filled the air, and spears 
began to fall around him, their sharp tips whickering evilly through the 
air as they passed.  Bursting through the gap, he shot away into the 
jungle.  "C'mon, guys!  RUN FOR IT!"
	Warthog and meerkat followed obligingly as the humans emerged from 
the encampment, jabbering furiously and waving their weapons.  A hissing 
sound filled the air, and a spear blurred past Simba to bury itself in a 
nearby tree, quivering angrily.  Redoubling his speed, he crashed 
through the undergrowth, ripping vines and sticks asunder as he fled. 
Pumbaa ran alongside, Timon astride him and waving his arms wildly.
	"Come on fellows!" Timon yelled mockingly.  "Let's eat!"
	Pumbaa panted as he struggled to keep up with the terrified lion.  
"I think the natives are restless."
	"No darned kidding!"



CHAPTER 53:  SETTING LIMITS

	Simba's brush with humankind left him scared but still hungry.  
Somewhat pensive, he sat on the bank of a small pond, watching the fish 
swim in the crystal clear water.  Some of them were rather large, and he 
felt that it would be a shame to waste all that meat on the bottom of a 
cold pond when it could be inside a nice warm lion.
	He considered his approach.  As slow as the fish swam, they would 
perk up substantially the instant his paw entered the water.  As he saw 
it, there were so many fish that if he jumped in the middle of the 
school and grabbed, he ought to catch at least one.
	After a while, the fish seemed to forget that Simba was there and 
began to behave normally.  One of the came alluringly close to the 
surface, then snapped up a hapless fly that had fallen in the pond.
	"I guess it's now or never," Simba said.  He tensed up, poised 
like a statue, then sprang.
	SPLASH!!
	Timon and Pumbaa watched in awe as Simba grabbed, missed, and 
grabbed again.  Flailing about in the water, he chased fish around until 
he was covered in mud.  The slippery algae on the rocks proved a bit 
much, even for his large paws.  He slipped and fell over on his back.
	"Thunderation!"
	Some monkeys began to laugh in a nearby tree.  "Fresh fish!  Fresh 
fish!"
	Simba tried to ignore them.  He concentrated on the task at hand, 
but with mud stirred up in the water it was almost impossible.  Still he 
thrashed about, finally managing to chase a fish into some very shallow 
water.  A quick smack of his paw pinned it to the bottom.
	"Gotcha!"
	He looked up proudly.  "Hey guys, look what I got!"
	The fish thrashed around, and as slippery as it was, it worked out 
from under Simba's paw.  The lion made another quick jab, but only 
managed to get water in his eyes.  He rubbed his face with disgust.
	"Hey guys!" one of the monkeys said.  "Look what I got!"  Gales of 
laughter erupted in the tree.
	"Shut up!" Timon shouted from the nearby riverbank.  "We'll have 
gibbon instead of fish!"
	At that remark, one of the monkeys pulled a ripe fruit and tossed 
it with almost flawless accuracy.  At least it hit Pumbaa....
	Others began to pull fruit, and Timon sounded a quick retreat.  It 
was just in the nick of time, too.  Fruit began landing all around them 
as they scrambled to put distance between themselves and the troop.
	As Simba ran, he began to dwell on what he had lost.  That fish 
meat would have tasted good.  A curse on those monkeys!  Maybe with a 
little more time things might have been different.
	As Simba checked behind him to see if the monkeys were pursuing, 
he failed to notice the thinning trees around him.  He absently noticed 
the light level incresaing, but it failed to register until his front 
paws sank into soft grass instead of the spongy mat of leaves on the 
jungle floor.
	He turned his head to look and sucked in a deep breath of awe. 
"Oh!"
	Arrayed before him was an immense expanse of grassland, stretching 
out as far as he could see, the gentle fingers of the wind stirring the 
ground restlessly into a panorama of motion.  He paused for a moment, 
the stepped out tentatively into the open.
	Timon glanced at him apprehensively.  "Hey?  What're ya doin'?!"
	"This is beautiful!"
	Timon and Pumbaa felt naked and exposed without the canopy of 
trees.  "I have a bad feeling about this."  
	Simba had only good feelings.  The cloying scent of rotting 
vegetation, ever present in the jungle, was gone, whisked away by a 
clean wind that brought the earthy smell of grass and ground, an 
ambrosia of scents that made his nostrils twitch with excitement.  The 
last time he had breathed such scents, he had been but a child, the tall 
stalks of grass towering over his pudgy body as he waddled through the 
flora.  Now he stood upright, the tops of the plants brushing his 
shoulders as he surveyed the plain, and nothing wad hidden from him.  
The faint flash of a thunderstorm on the horizon winked at him from far 
to the southwest, and a small herd of zebra paced leisurely a few miles 
off, bobbing their heads and gossiping in their singsong voices.  He 
raised his head to look at the sky and grinned, settling down and 
rolling onto his back as he watched the clouds scud slowly by. "Oh 
yeah!"  He sighed.  "Come on, fellows!  It's OK.  It's great out here!"
	"No thanks.  We'll stay here and watch."
	"Jeez!  What is it with you two?"  Irritated, Simba started to 
rise.  Pushing himself up on his forepaws, he shifted, preparing to get 
up, when his ears flicked towards a sound from the grass behind him.  He 
turned, seeing the stalks rustling and waving, but not from the wind.  
What breeze there was shifted slightly, and his nose twitched as he 
caught the long forgotten but unmistakable scent of a lioness.  "Who's 
there??"  he said, frightened.
	"Hey, it's OK.  I'm not going to rush you."  Timon and Pumbaa 
quivered in the underbrush as a golden face appeared.  "My name is 
Sasha."
	Simba stared, entranced by the lovely visage.  "Pretty name."
	"Thanks."
	He smiled.  "Hey, it's been a long time since I've talked to 
another of my own kind."
	"Are you a rogue lion?"
	"Worse," he said broodingly.  "There's something natural about a 
rogue lion.  I'm--well--oh forget it."
	"You're lonely?  I can understand that."  She stepped from the 
grass, the entire length of a fully grown lioness revealing itself as 
she came to sit beside him.  "How long has it been?  A moon?  Two?"
	"Since I was three moons old."
	"My gods!"  She looked at him with wonder.  "How did you survive?"
	Simba gestured over at Timon and Pumbaa.  "I had help."
	"Them??"  Sasha smiled.  She looked back at Simba.  "You mean 
you've been without lion friends since you were three moons old?"
	"I've been without lion enemies too.  You're the first I've seen 
since my father...."  He looked down.
	She came to him and nuzzled him.  "You poor dear!"
	An embarrassed smile lit his face.  "I forgot how good lionesses 
smell.  But you look so small.  I used to look up at my mom."
	She laughed.  It was a merry sound that reminded him of Isha's 
wonderful chuckle, a sound that was as warm as a good hug.
	"Hey Simba!" Pumbaa shouted.  "Come back!"
	"It's all right."
	"No it's not!"
	"Don't be ridiculous, Pumbaa."
	"If you don't believe me, ask HIM!"
	"What?"  Simba patiently began to explain that it was a female who 
sat beside him when another scent reached out and slapped his senses.  
This one was utterly familiar, despite the intervening wall of years.  
He had smelled it when his father had rescued him and Nala from the 
hyenas clutches; the scent of a male lion full of rage and ready for 
battle.  Simba turned his head slowly to see the immense form part the 
grass.
	"Who are you talking to, Sasha?"  The amber eyes narrowed and 
regarded Simba coldly, mouth tightening into a flat line that gleamed at 
the edges where his incisors protruded.  "Listen you snotty-nosed brat.  
Run along before I have to sharpen my claws on you."
	"Wait, Jomo," Sasha said rapidly.  "It's all right--"
	Timon shouted, "What makes you think you can talk to us like 
that??  Why, Simba here will use you for a beanbag!"  
	The shine left the lion's eyes, leaving them flat and deadly.  "So 
it's Simba, is it??  Well, Simba, why don't you prove it!"  His tail 
stiffened slightly as his shoulders hunched, and he began to stalk 
slowly towards the terrified youngster.
	Sasha stood aside  fearfully as Simba gathered his legs under him 
in a crouch, creeping backwards towards the treeline.  "Hey, no need to 
get huffy, sir."  He looked back at the meerkat.  "Cool it, Timon!  
Hakuna Matata, remember?"
	The adult lion grinned humorlessly.  "You have a lot of worries if 
you ask me.  Or maybe just one big one.  Me."
	"We were just leaving."
	"I'd bet my next kill on it."  As he spoke, the lion flattened his 
ears and swept towards Simba in a deadly rush, fangs bared fully, the 
light gleaming off them in a promise of death.  Simba gave a roar of 
surprise and jerked away, scrabbling for purchase as he tried to turn 
and flee.  The monarch's paw whipped around and struck the young lion, 
his claws scoring crimson furrows in Simba's haunch.  Simba cried out in 
pain and fear, the lion's roars thundering in his ears as he sprinted 
away towards the safety of the jungle.  He glanced back and saw the lion 
still pursuing, the sight goading him to run even faster.
	Finally he stopped, unable to run any longer, his sides burning 
with pain as his breath whooped in and out in great tides of air. He 
turned slowly, expecting to see the great brute bearing down on him for 
the kill.
	Instead, he saw only empty jungle, a very relieved warthog, and an 
indignant meerkat who sat astride Pumbaa's head, glaring at him.
	Timon asked, "Why did you run away like that??  That dope was a 
softie; you coulda thrashed him easy!"
	Simba licked the bleeding claw marks on his injured haunch and 
wondered at that.  "Once a very wise lion told me he was only brave when 
he HAD to be.  You don't go asking for trouble."
	"Simba, I don't think you should go back there for awhile."
	The young lion grinned shakily at Pumbaa.  "Good idea."
	The rest of the afternoon passed blissfully uneventful, and the 
trio even managed to scare up enough insects that evening to go to bed 
relatively full.  But Simba lay awake long after the others had passed 
into sleep, his head on his paws as he thought about that beautiful sky 
above, and the wonderful feeling of space around him, unobstructed by 
vines and trees.  As his eyes began to close, he wondered idly what Nala 
was doing right now, and if she was as pretty as Sasha had been, her 
tawny face framed by the waving stalks of the grasslands.


CHAPTER 54: SIGN OF POWER

	Nearby, Timon lay enraptured in dreams of a different sort.
	"The rhinocerous beetle, my dear, IF you please."  Timon grinned, 
as he lay back, literally in the lap of luxury.  His head was pillowed 
on the legs of a meerkat female who sat cross legged, tickling the fur 
on the top of his head.  Giggling, she nodded, and picked the struggling 
insect from a pile of bugs that lay nearby, popping into his mouth 
delicately.  "There you go."
	He chewed, savoring the delightful crunch.  "Thanks, babe."
	"Of course."  She smiled at him, and he couldn't help but smile 
back, admiring the beautiful white fur that enveloped her whole body.  
"You're kinda cute, you know that?"
	"You too."  Bending over, she rubbed her nose against his, making 
him chuckle with laughter.  "You're really special, you know that?" 
	He blinked.  "What makes you say that?"
	"The way you and your friend took care of that lion cub."
	"Oh, Simba?"  Timon shrugged.  "Least we could do.  You know, when 
we first found him, he was almost dead.  We saved his life!"
	She nodded.  "I know.  that was very thoughtful of you."
	"We practically had to teach the kid everything; what to eat, 
where to sleep..."  Timon sighed.  "He's gettin kinda big now though."
	She remained silent, stroking his cheek quietly, waiting for him 
to continue.
	Finally, he did.  "He's gettin kinda big, all right."  Timon 
examined his hands uncomfortably.  "Pretty soon he's not gonna need us 
any more."
	She smiled and shook her head.  "Oh, I wouldn't say that."
	"Really?"
	"Oh, there's a few things that still have to be done."
	He looked at her strangely.  "Like what?"
	By way of answer, she leapt out from under him, sending his head 
to the ground with a dull thump.  "YEOWCH!"  He sat up rubbing his head, 
and was immediately flattened again as she tackled him, sending the two 
of them rolling through the grass until she finally pinned him to the 
ground with her weight, holding his shoulders tight with her hands.  
"You silly little fellow!"
	"Whaddya tryin ta do, kill me--" he trailed off, entranced by her 
beautiful eyes, gleaming silver-blue as they stared into his own.  
"Pretty eyes."
	"Everyone says that."  She chuckled, then looked at  him intently.  
"Your friend has reached a turning point in his life.  He needs someone 
to walk with him across the bridge.  Great things lie ahead for him, but 
there are forks in the path.  You must help guide him along the way."  
She reached down and played with the fur on his cheek, sending shivers 
down his spine.  "You'll do that for him, won't you?"
	"You betcha.  What do I have to do?"
	"First of all, he has grown his mane.  You need to give him his 
mantlement.  That's the leonine coming of age ceremony.  You'll pray for 
him, stroke his mane, and pronounce him an adult.  Then you will help 
him find his destiny.  In his case that will involve some risk for you."
	His focus on her wavered slightly.  "Risk??"
	She stroked him under his chin, riveting his attention on her 
again.  "But you will be very brave and won't let me down.  I know this 
for a fact."
	He looked at her spellbound.  "I will be very brave," he 
stammered.
	"You will help him."
	"I will help him."
	"I knew I could count on you."  She looked penetratingly into his 
eyes and drew very close.  He could feel her soft breath on his face, 
enveloping him in the smell of wild honey.  "Daima pendana," she 
whispered, kissing his cheek.
	Timon jerked awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes in the first 
gray light of dawn.  Gingerly, he rubbed the back of his head and looked 
at where he had been lying, seeing the rock protruding from the gorund.
	"Stupid stone."  He rose, streching and yawning with exaggeration, 
feeling the stretch and pull of his muscles as he stood.  He was 
standing there, glancing about blearily, wondering where he might find a 
good bit of breakfast, when his eyes fell on Simba.  He stood still for 
a long moment, then pattered over to the lion and yanked on his 
whiskers.  "Up and at `em!"
	"WHAAAA!!"  Simba's eyes bulged and he jerked back, his claws 
splaying involuntarily.  "What the--"
	"C'mon!  Get up, ya bums!  It's daybreak already!  We ain't got 
much time."  Scampering over, Timon took a deep breath and nipped 
Pumbaa's tail lightly, waking the warthog with a shriek and sending HIM 
running into Simba.  Lion and warthog stood trembling at the tiny 
apparition which ranted at them.
	"C'mon!  We gotta get goin!"
	"Where, Timon?"
	"The waterfall, knucklehead!  It's the only place high enough!"
	"For WHAT?!"
	"Your mantlement, dummy!"
	"My wha--"  Simba froze.  "Gods, you're right."  He lowered his 
head.  "But I know so little about it; my dad only told me a little 
about the ceremony."
	Timon glared at him.  "Are you a lion?"
	"Yeah."
	"You got a mane?"
	"Well, yeah..."
	"We can fake the rest.  C'mon!"  He smacked Simba's rump and 
trotted off into the forest, grumbling.
	Some time later, the three stood on the rocks that overlooked the 
falls, feeling the cool morning breeze caress their faces, carrying with 
it a damp spray of droplets from the falls.  They sat silently, hearing 
the calling of the first birds in the clear air.  Timon figeted 
nervously and glanced at Pumbaa, who was clearly just as nervous as he 
was.  They glanced at Simba enviously; the lion sat quiescent, head 
bowed slightly and eyes closed.
	Simba felt a preternatural calm as he sat, hearing the dull roar 
of the falls below him and the tremors that traveled back up through the 
rock, vibrating in the pads of his feet.  Finally, he detected the first 
warm rays of light on his eyelids.  Opening them, he looked to Timon and 
nodded slightly.
	Timon cleared his throat, trembling with nervousness as he raised 
his voice.  "Uhh, ahem!  Let everybody that can hear me know that Simba 
is following his fathers."  He cringed, looking at Simba, who said 
nothing as he continued to look at the rising sun.  "Look, he bears the 
sign!"
	Silence reigned, and Pumbaa cleared his throat.  Timon closed his 
eyes and hoped fervently that this next bit might go okay; Pumbaa had 
insisted on giving the ritual prayer.  His eyes opened slowly as he 
heard the warthog's words.
	"I don't really know what to say to you, God.  But you're smart 
enough to figure out what I mean.  He was all alone in the desert, and 
we found him lying there, and jeez, if we hadn't found him, he would 
have died.  But we did, and I don't think it's an accident that we came 
along when we did.  You know?  I mean what are the chances of that?  
Well, anyway, he's got this fuzz on his neck, and for lions that's 
supposed to be a big deal and all.  It means our little cub is grown, 
and I guess what I'm trying to say is if he was my own son, I couldn't 
be any more proud of him than I am right now.  Thanks for giving us a 
shot at this.  I love him, and you make sure nothing bad happens to him, 
OK?"
	He looked up to see the two of them looking at him wonderingly.  
"Was that all right?"
	Simba nuzzled him.  "Beautiful.  You're a good friend, Pumbaa."
	Timon nudged him.  "It's time.  Go for it, kid."
	Simba nodded.  He took a deep breath and roared, the sound 
shattering the stillness as it echoed across the rocks and canyons.  The 
raucous sound of the birds below fighting for breakfast fell silent, and 
there was only the sound of the falling water.

Bookmark/Search this post with:

delicious | digg | reddit | newsvine | furl | google | yahoo | technorati