John Burkitt - Shadow of Makei

Uzuri was in genuine awe of Losara’s focus and natural grace. She longed to see the loyalists together again, performing a star-and-four maneuver the way they once did under Amarakh and Ber. Losara was deeply touched when Uzuri added the move to her repertoire.

Uzuri pawed Losara. “Bih ‘malan, Losara.”

Losara smiled warmly as she always did at that moment. “Bih ‘malan, Uzuri. Bih ‘malan!”

They were about to leave for their hunt together when Pipkah recalled them. “In the cave, ladies. The King says we hunt again.”

“What??” Uzuri looked around with anger. “Again??”

They went into the cave at the top of Pride Rock. Uzuri did not dare anger Taka. He glared at her, obviously upset by her frequent absences.

“It’s time for the traditional blessing,” Taka said.

Pipkah had nerve enough to try and join the lions, sure that if Losara could, he could. As hunt master of the hyenas, Taka no doubt expected Uzuri to address her blessing to him. She didn’t feel like blessing him, but thought a good blessing might soothe Taka’s nerves. She decided to do something a little different.

“Bih ‘malan, Pipkah.”

Pipkah looked at her strangely, then grinned embarrassed, the tip of his tail wagging slightly. “Bih ‘malan, Uzuri!”

All of the hyenas took in a gasp and smiled. One of them whispered something to Taka, and Taka smiled broadly, looking at Uzuri with mixed surprise and gratitude.

Uzuri smiled a relieved smile and headed off with the others.

The hunt was rather uneventful as hunts go, but Losara found an excuse to get near Uzuri.

“Uzuri, I have to tell you something rather important.”

“What is it, Losara?”

“Well, that blessing is something just between the two of us. It’s not really traditional.”

“Oh? You sound upset.”

“More like embarrassed.” Losara scratched herself with embarrassment. “How can I put this?”

“What does it mean?”

“Well, when I say it, it means, well....” Losara swallowed hard. “It means something I really feel. It means ‘I love you.’” Uzuri simply stared at her, and Losara hurried to continue. “It was wrong of me, and I apologize. But I do love you, Uzuri.” Losara looked at her nakedly. “I thought if I told you it was a blessing, you’d say it back to me.” She looked down at the ground, feeling the shame sweep over her like fire. “I’m sorry--”

Uzuri looked at her solemnly. “There, there, child. No offense taken.” Uzuri allowed a slight smile. “But I wish you’d just....oh my gods! Pipkah!”

“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 ahead, 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.”