John Burkitt - Shadow of Makei

“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 fidgeted 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.

Simba was walking restlessly along a well worn path through the jungle, his feet making no sound as they padded along the trail. He paused, glancing down at the far end where it ended, the trees beginning to thin out at the limit of his vision. A slight smile rose as he set about carefully marking the unseen boundary between the savannah and the forest. Grouchy old booger, he thought. Come in HERE and I’LL show you a thing or two. He longed to trot down to the end of the path and roll under that delightful sky once again, but dared not; he was still not fully grown, and he was well aware of the difference between boldness and foolishness.

As he turned to leave, the sharp crack of a tree limb above reached him, and he ducked sidewise, expecting to see the colorful splash of a rotten fruit strike near him. Stupid monkeys, he thought irritably. He was smart enough not to look straight up. There had been times before when he had caught a ripe fruit right in the face.

Instead of a fruit, however, an antelope fell out of the tree and plopped on the ground right in front of him. As he stared, shocked, a voice floated down from above.

“Damn! Of all the times to drop something!”

It was a female voice, a melodious catlike voice but not a lioness. Moments later, a large leopardess came bounding down the trunk with the intensity of a vertical run. She pounced on the antelope and said, “Mine! Buzz off!”

Taken aback, Simba looked up in the tree and back at her. “You got that all the way up there?”

The leopardess glared at him. “What of it?”

“Well, I just thought....” He looked at her and at the antelope. “Did you have help?”

She half smiled. “No. I did it by myself. Haven’t you ever seen a leopard do that before?”

“I’ve never seen a leopard before.” He looked at her appraisingly. “Those spots are so--so neat!”

She purred. “I’ve seen you here before, and I’ve always wanted to ask. How did a lion like you get in a forest like this?”

“Long story,” Simba said with a shrug.

“You hang out with those two?”

Simba knew immediately whom she was referring to. “Well, uh, yeah. What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I just thought I’ve never seen you with another lion before. But there are a lot of strange things in this forest. Like that pair of hyenas.”

“Gur’bruk and Kambra?”

“You know them? They healed my shoulder once.”

“What do you know! They saved my life once.”

“Small world, isn’t it?” With a quick snatch of her powerful jaws, the antelope was on its way up the tree. In five or six bounds of her powerful legs, the prey was cached away in the branches.

“Whoa! I’d give anything to know how to do that!”

She came bounding down again. It was always disconcerting to Simba when she did that.

“Let me get this straight. You’re grown and you don’t know how to hunt?”

“Yeah.” Simba looked away.

“Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

Simba looked at the ground. His ears and tail drooped. “She didn’t get a chance. My dad gave me a few pouncing lessons.”

“And?”

“He died when I was very little.”

“I’m sorry. So have you scavenged all this time?”

“No, ma’am. I’ve eaten bugs.”

“Bugs??”

“These guys helped me. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”

It brought out some of the motherly feelings in her. The corners of her mouth twitched. “I lost a cub once. I had a lot of things I wanted to tell her, and they’ve been bottled up inside me. Look, if you wait till I chow down, I’ll give you a couple of lessons, OK?”

“Neat!”

The leopardess had a leisurely meal in the tree. She did not offer to share her meal, and she was not asked. Timon and Pumbaa watched her pull off strips of the fresh meat and mince them with a look of pleasure before swallowing. Timon stared at her hungrily, running the tip of his tongue slowly around his lips. “Look at that, Pumbaa! That’s how real people live.”

Pumbaa said nothing, but his stomach complained periodically. Simba was quite content to watch her. Part of his missing heritage would be given him, and he awaited the wonderful secrets she would impart with open-mouthed wonder. “Imagine, me a hunter! A hunter like my mother before me!”