John Burkitt - Shadow of Makei

"Aww...." Timon's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Why not. I AM the master! Pumbaa! Another stone, if you please!"

Obligingly, the warthog picked up another pebble and tossed it to him. It was ripped out of the air by his flailing hand and sent aloft to join the other six in one perfect, fluid motion. Timon gaped up at the circling stones. "I did it!"

Pumbaa cackled as he flicked an eighth stone to the blissful meerkat. Reflexively, Timon grabbed for it and lost control.

"Look out below!" The others ducked as the stones rained down on the beleaguered Meerkat’s head, each impact punctuated by an agonized "YEOWCH!" The onslaught over, Timon raised his head and rubbed his abused skull gingerly as he surveyed the litter of rocks around him.

"What happened Unca Timon? Did you drop them?"

"What?" Timon looked indignant. "No, of course not! I uh, just wanted to show you how dangerous juggling could be. A guy could get KILLED,” he said, glaring at Pumbaa, who merely grinned wider.

"Okay, if you say so. I feel lots better, though." Simba bent and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Unca Timon. You're the greatest."

Timon smiled, and the ache in his head seemed to lessen abruptly. "Sure. No problem, kid."

Simba gave him a wet lick that sent him back on his keester. He got up silently, brushing himself off.

Simba’s face fell as he peered at the meerkat in alarm. "I'm sorry! You aren’t mad, are you?"

"No, I like it." Timon abruptly opened his arms and embraced Simba’s neck, hugging the cub to him. "We're all family here."

Simba seemed ignorant of the fact that he was growing like a weed. His rough and ready play was cute once, but nature took its course, and the inevitable happened. One day he was playing with Pumbaa and gave the warthog a playful whack that sent him reeling. Pumbaa shook his head and tapped his ear with a forefoot as if to set his brain back in its socket.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Nothing a good nap won’t fix. But please to remember to retract your claws, and watch that right cross, little guy.” Pumbaa sat back and regarded the young lion, noting the lanky form and the smooth interplay of muscles across Simba’s shoulders that was becoming easily visible. “Really, you’re not such a little guy anymore.”

Timon had long since stopped playing with Simba, and directed his lighter moods into word games and riddles. Timon looked at Simba appraisingly. “When will you be grown up, and how big will you be?”

Simba furrowed his forehead in thought. “When I’m three, I’ll be a grown up, but I won’t get any bigger when I’m two and a half. I don’t know how big I’ll be.” He looked up at the angle he used to take to peer into his mother’s eyes. “Gee, I guess I’ll know when I’m two and a half.”

Simba was a work in progress. Every day, his potential unfolded like an opening flower, but there was one particular day when it really became real to him. He was playing with a tortoise near the water’s edge, batting it around playfully and finally knocking it into the creek. He came to the water, still rippling with the splash, but even then he noticed something odd about his reflection. Waiting until it stilled, he took in a deep breath and let it out in a shout of delight.

"Timon! Pumbaa!! Check it OUT!" He reached back with a paw and trembling with joy stroked the first russet hairs of his emerging mane. "Look, it’s happening!"

"What, what?" Timon looked up from the pursuit of a lovely red beetle, annoyed at the interruption. "WHAT’S happening??"

Simba was prancing around so quickly that they couldn’t see what the big deal was. "Look guys, just LOOK!"

"Hold it! What is it, kid?"

"Look at my mane, guys! I got a mane coming in!"

Pumbaa stares, entranced. "Wow! You really DO have a mane coming in!"

"Yeah!" Simba grinned again. "Cool!"

Timon smiled, but uncertainly. "That's nice and all if it’s your thing, but what's the deal about manes, anyway?"

Simba looked at him as if Timon had asked him for the reason behind breathing. "What's the big deal?? A mane is...." He thought a moment. “Well the girls dig it.”

His euphoria faded rapidly as he pondered the odds of a girl noticing him at all. The lion population of the jungle was notoriously small; currently, it was running at exactly one. He regarded the wall of greenery around him with sudden dislike; it seemed cloying, the scents of rotten vegetation and flowers abruptly nauseating.

“Girls! Oy!” Timon looked at him and shook his head. “Girls are trouble. Nothing but trouble. I mean, what girl ever took care of you the way we do?”

Simba thought a moment. “My mother.”

“Oh. Good point.” Timon looked down at his feet and shuffled them in the dust. “Well you know what I mean.”

“Nala, too.” Simba took in a deep breath and let it out. “You know, we had this funny hornbill named Zazu. He used to watch out for us, and one day he said that Nala and I were—uh--I think the word was betrothed. It means we were going to be married someday.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said that was really weird. I mean, she was my best friend.”

A look crossed Simba’s face as if someone had punched him right in the stomach. He turned around and looked back at the water. “Good old Nal. I guess she has another boyfriend now.” His lips tightened as a tear of regret ran down his cheek and splashed in the water, leaving little silver rings. “Gods, I wish I could see her one more time. And my mother.” He knelt and looked at his visage in the water again. “I’m so alone!”

“Not that again,” Timon said with a sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you--you have us. We’re your family, kid. We won’t let you down.”

Pumbaa suddenly erupted into tears, surprising everyone. "Ohhh, now you're gonna leave us!"

"What??” Simba looked around. “Leave you??”

Timon looked around. “Leave us??”

Pumbaa said, "When your mane grows in, it means your grown up, right?"

"Yeah.... So?"

Pumbaa bawled with renewed vigor. "You’ll want to leave the nest! You won’t want a daddy anymore!"

"What’s that got to do with it? I mean, we lions don’t go off alone unless we HAVE to. Well, I don't wanna leave.” He looked at them apprehensively. “You...you guys won’t kick me out, will you?"

“Heavens, no!” Timon said earnestly, patting him. “We’re a gleesome threesome! I mean, hey kid, we, like, love you.” His face drew down in a set expression. “There. I’ve said it.”

Simba regarded him silently for a moment, overwhelmed. “Well, I, like, love you guys too. There, I’ve said it back.” Simba smiled craftily and shouted, “Everyone into the pool!” Before Timon and Pumbaa could budge, he sprang, launching his body, now weighing well over a hundred pounds, into the air over the pond, sailing down to belly-flop into the water in a tremendous geyser that showered his companions. Pumbaa shrieked with glee, rolling delightedly in the muddy bank. His friend, however, was not so amused.

Timon stood trembling, legs akimbo, his fur utterly drenched with mud and water. He uttered an incoherent growl as he gritted his teeth and shook his fist at Simba. “Oy! What IS it with you guys?! Are you part frog, or what?!”

A small toad near the water’s edge emitted a small croak.

Timon glared hotly at it. “Aw, shaddap!”

Food was becoming scarce for the inhabitants of Pride Rock. They spent more time looking for their basic diet. But Uzuri and Losara still found time to hunt together on the sly, just for the companionship and to share what they caught with some of the cubs.